


The Rites of Spring

by marith



Category: RWBY
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Glynda is not getting paid enough, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Oz past incarnations, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Self-Indulgent, Sex Pollen, dubcon, minor Glynda/OC, one head many voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-01-31 15:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18594352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marith/pseuds/marith
Summary: Nothing about Ozpin's life is ever straightforward.  When an unexpected kind of attack from Salem brings him closer to Qrow, it adds yet another level of complication for both of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MorteLise pointed out that there haven't been many sex pollen stories in this fandom. My brain said, "Hey, we've never written that trope." Thanks, brain.

The note had said something about "remember", and something about spring.  That was all he'd glimpsed in the half-second before Oz had caught it back up, his long white fingers deftly folding the slip of paper and tucking it into a waistcoat pocket. 

_"Ah - forgive me.  It seems there's a matter I'd forgotten to attend to.   I'm sorry, but we'll have to do this another time."_

_"What, just like that?We just sat down, Oz, c'mon.Call and tell them you'll be late. It can't be that important if you forgot."_

_"I'm sorry."_

Qrow hunched over in the little chair and sulked into his drink.That was the word for it.He was sulking childishly and he was man enough to admit the fact.

It wasn't fair. He'd just gotten back from a three-week mission down south, full of idiots who wouldn't know long-term defense planning until the lack of it bit them in the ass with Grimm teeth, and it was looking forward to today that had kept him patient through the worst of it.They had a tradition, damn it.The official debriefing whenever he got in, and then the next morning he'd fly up to the office window where the one pane that nobody else knew opened would be left ajar just for him.Oz would just _happen_ to have ordered in, extra coffee and blueberry muffins,too much for one person really, would Qrow like to stay a while?He'd sit on the desk and get crumbs on the paperwork and they'd talk about everything and nothing.

Now instead he was in a trendy little brunch place, drinking a stupid mimosa because no one served proper alcohol at this hour.Nothing to do with the day anymore but wait for the bars to open. He could head over to Patch and see everyone, but...

They'd been doing post-mission breakfasts since his senior year and Oz had never been too busy. He rarely was, when it came to Qrow. That was what Glynda had said the third or fourth time she'd walked in on them eating.Oz would always invite her to stay and she would always sniff and stalk off,leaving a fresh stack of paperwork behind. 

(She'd stopped him in the hall one day. "I don't approve of staff fraternizing with students.But I will admit, Mr. Branwen, it's nice to see him smiling more.Just...don't take advantage." He never had.)

Eggs and hashbrowns arrived and he scowled at them for not being muffins.Something just didn't feel right about this.What was in that note that was more important than post-mission breakfast?Super highly-trained spy question one for all situations:what's unusual? 

The flowers, that was what.He'd never seen flowers on Oz's desk before, but this morning there they were in a vase.Nice white sweet-smelling things, in full bloom even though spring was barely starting. The envelope had been next to them.Oz had slit it open neatly with that small blade he kept with the gears on the hilt,unfolded the note inside, and almost instantly dropped it on the desk.

Huh. Oz wasn't clumsy (aside from the usual effects Qrow tended to have on people).That hadn't been a butterfingers-drop, that had been reaction. Were the flowers and note from an enemy?Or a reminder of something sad or upsetting?Maybe Oz had remembered he was supposed to be visiting a grave today. Definitely enough to spoil the appetite.Qrow could relate.

Nothing in that to justify sulking.Or worrying. Oz could take care of himself, had been for centuries.Time to shrug it off,fly back to Patch and teach Yang to ride her bike without the training wheels like he'd promised.Tai would fuss, but Summer knew Qrow was the better teacher for this kind of thing - she'd fall more often but she'd learn how to handle it.

* * *

_Hey Glyn, sorry to bother you, but do you know anything about those flowers in the office this morning?_

_  
The white ones?They were at the reception desk when I first arrived, with a note for the headmaster, so I brought them up.Why?_

_Local delivery?_  
  
_No. I didn't recognize the species- pretty, though.Are you worried they might have been what made him sick? I don't think so, several of us sniffed them and we're all fine._

 _What?_  
  
_I thought you knew. He messaged me a few hours ago, he's coming down with something and expects it to last a day or two.Nothing to worry about. Now if there's nothing else, I have a school to run._

* * *

He hadn't gone back to Patch.  

"If you knew a sick person,"he said slowly into his latest drink,"would you go visit 'em?Bring chicken soup or something?"

"Depends."The bartender shrugged."Some people wanna be fussed over when they're sick, others would rather be left alone.Did they call you?"

"Nah."

"Then they're probably the second kind.Besides,don't take this the wrong way, buddy, but you're not exactly cut out to play nursing angel right now.One more and I'm cutting you off." 

"Muh.Fine, pour it."

His scroll lit up ten minutes later. _My apartment,_ was all the message said, and _please._

The bartender was going to be wrong like a, like a very wrong person, because Qrow was going to be a damn good nurse angel.If he wasn't in a hurry he'd stop and pick up a uniform, he could pull off a skirt and there was evidence to prove it. Although possibly it was time to draw on his aura and sober up a bit first.

* * *

He'd never been inside, though he'd walked Oz to his door a few times at the end of the night.  The headmaster's apartment was below his office on a floor the elevator didn't normally stop at.  Qrow pressed buttons three and six together and thought about chicken soup.  Should he have brought something? No,  Oz would've said.  And he could always go back out if need be,  he knew every all-night store in Vale. 

No answer at the door.It wasn't locked; he slipped inside, calling Oz's name softly.Darkened empty living room, a general impression of green and soft cushions and not being much used. No sick headmasters.He locked the door behind him and moved on.

Empty bedroom, also green and soft.Light in the bathroom; he wasn't throwing up, was he?No,there was the sound of the shower.Qrow knocked once."I'm here." No answer. "You all right in there?"

"Just...just a minute," came the faint answer. All right then.He propped Harbinger in a corner and sat on the bed to wait. Bookshelves, no surprise there,probably full of fairy tales.Oz had read him a few - he wasn't much of a bookworm himself, but it was a pleasure to listen to that voice taking its time over a story. Qrow had a reputation as Best Bedtime Reader with his nieces now;someday, when they were at Beacon themselves, he'd tell them he learned all the sound effects from their headmaster, yes including the squeaky voice one. They were going to flip out.

When Oz finally staggered out of the bathroom,he looked terrible.Not aesthetically terrible,aesthetics wereabsolutely not a thing Qrow was thinking about right now, but soaking wet and shivering and blue-tinged at the lips. Qrow had noticed all the way back in first year that the headmaster was barely older than his students, figured out the stuffy green suit even on the hottest days was a kind of dignity-granting armor,but it was startling to see how much of a difference it really made.Oz clutched the doorframe with one hand and the towel around his waist with the other, and made an attempt at a smile. It wasn't very good.

"Thank you for coming.I shouldn't have called you."

  
"Of course you should've, you look like death warmed over.Uh.You should be the one sitting down right now. "Get in gear, nursing angel. "Here.I gotcha.Just sit down and let's get you dry and warm."

Oz was worryingly passive about the whole thing.He just sat there, eyes closed and breathing rapid, as Qrow rubbed spare towels through the soft mop of grey hair and over his torso and legs.Compartmentalizing was a skill you learned early on as a bandit kid;Qrow kept his hands moving briskly and his eyes elsewhere, and thought about next steps. Get Oz under the covers,search the kitchen for something to turn into a hot-water bottle,message Glynda about the symptoms.First thing tomorrow they'd haul him to the hospital.

A hand settled in his hair.Qrow looked up from drying Oz's feet ( _you're on your knees for him_ , whispered a treacherous part of his brain)and met his uncertain, feverish smile with the most reassuring look he could muster."You're gonna be okay.Can you tell me anything?Any medicine I can get you?"

"No.It'll pass.Qrow, I'm sorry, I - "  
  
"Nothin' to apologize for. It's okay."

"Please don't leave."

"I won't, I promise.Hey, your face is still wet, let me get that." He reached up and wiped gently, with the towel and then his fingers.Oz closed his eyes and turned his cheek into Qrow's hand like a cat being petted, and his fingers inQrow's hair moved and tugged lightly.

"Ah?"he heard himself say intelligently."Um."He was blushing like a kid and his reserved, dignified, smug, maddeningly perfect boss was _nuzzling his hand._ They'd never touched except when sparring.You couldn't even imagine patting the guy on the shoulder, no one would dare -

\- lips on his palm, the faintest brush of wet -

It was so much suddenly.Too much.Qrow was going to have inappropriate dreams about this for the rest of his life, if his pounding heart didn't burst right here and now.He pulled away and got to his feet."We better get you in bed."

"Qrow -"

"That's _enough_."The words came out more roughly than he meant them, but what the hell, what the _hell_.He turned away and went to pull down the covers.

"Please."Oz's voice right behind him, a hand on his shoulder.Qrow closed his eyes.

"Look, I..."he mumbled, trailing off as he realized there was no good way to finish his sentence. _I can't be this close to you, it's bad for my cardiac health? You're sick and you don't realize how this is coming across?Tomorrow I'm going to go out and take a six-month Huntsman contract, because we won't be able to look each other in the eyes for at least that long?_

 _I will do literally anything you ask,stop saying please and tell me what you want?_ That sounded all right.He let himself be turned back around, and then three things happened very fast.

Oz stepped in close and pressed his mouth to Qrow's, quick and awkward and already gone before he could react.

The overhead light gave out with a sizzling pop, leaving them in darkness.

Qrow jerked back in shock, slipped on something underfoot and cracked the back of his head on a bookcase. He heard muffled thumps of things falling and a faint crunch of glass; _oh welcome back semblance, you weren't missed._

"Are you all right?" Oz's voice and hands, reaching out of the dark to pull him up. He grabbed onto them willingly andgot his feet under him, though the room still seemed to sway a little bit.There had been a lamp on the bedside table, right?Yes.He reached behind himself and fumbled with the switch.

_Oh._

Standing in front of him was the whole length of glorious beanpole pale skin and muscles that made up Ozpin,and - and small tufts of silver hair and _oh gods so pretty and kissable_ standing up straight and stiff, flushed pink with want and Qrow's brain was sizzling out with a pop just like the light bulb, that was it, he would never be able to form a thought again. 

Oz made a small mortified sound and tried to cover himself with his hands, looking to see where the towel had fallen.Qrow’s brain might be offline but he knew he wanted to see _more_ not _less_.As the most straightforward way to express this, he shoulder-checked Oz onto the bed and fell on top of him. He had a vague further idea about pinning him down, but a twist of strong bare thighs and arms made the world go dizzy for a moment and then he was looking up at the ceiling. 

Possibly he hadn’t sobered up quite as much as he should have.But Oz seemed to have stopped with the please-sorry seesaw and was leaning over him looking cautiously hopeful, so perhaps things were working out. 

“I didn’t know how to ask,” said Oz in a low voice.He thumbed along Qrow’s jawline gently, stroking at stubble.“I didn’t even know if you -“

“Hey.”Qrow caught at his hand and kissed the fingers.“I gave my life to you a long time ago, Oz, you know that.You think that didn’t mean my body too?” 

Oh. That hadn’t been fever earlier, the pink tinge in his cheeks, and it was rising there again now. Way too adorable not to push for more.“So, I noticed you have a little problem there,Oz.Did you call ‘cause you wanted some help?”

Crimson now.Oz was giving him the stern headmaster glare that had never worked on anyone named Branwen, ever, but which he still attempted to deploy now and then.“Qrow.”

“Mmm?”

“My bed is not an appropriate place to wear shoes.”

…fair. Qrow stripped as fast as he ever had in his life, and then they were under the covers and tangling together, sighing at the glory of skin on skin. 

“Those flowers did this to you, didn’t they,” he murmured eventually, between kisses.Oz made an impatient little noise and Qrow stroked along his back and sides gently, saying with his hands:soon, soon.“And you’ve been trying to deal by yourself all day.”

“It seems there is a limit to the effectiveness of cold showers,”Oz sighed into his hair. 

“And you called me.”Tender petal-pink nipples it had taken a heroic effort not to stare at, and now he was allowed.He kissed them lovingly, made circles with tongue and fingers, and grinned to feel the sudden buck of hips up against him. “You thought of _me._ ”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Hey.Stop it already. I’m really, really glad you did.”He tried to put everything he couldn’t say into his gaze, saw the message received as the brown eyes widened for a moment.Oz smiled down at him, but there was a little twist at the corner of his mouth that he didn’t quite like the look of.Qrow opened his mouth to ask and found those long fingers firmly in the way.

“Not to rush things,” said Oz in a tone that meant exactly the opposite,“but.”

“Right, right.”Qrow pushed his thoughts aside for later and concentrated on kissing his way down a lovely expanse of pale skin to where they both wanted him to be. He worshipped that pretty cock with hands and mouth, every inch and fold and crevice,and exulted in the gasps and soft _ohs_.Could he make Oz cry out his name, if he really concentrated?It turned out that he could.

Afterward Oz clung to him and shook for a long time.Qrow stroked his hair and shoulders and held him close and pretended not to notice the tears.He hoped they were from relief. It felt like there was something enormous and unspoken in the room,too vast for him to understand and too private to be witnessed. 

Before tonight when he’d let himself imagine what Oz might be like in bed (and he had, on lonely nights, too many to count), he’d thought he might be jaded after a thousand years’ experience and every possible act and partner. Perhaps he’d grown bored with sex altogether.Or (he’d secretly hoped)Oz might be as calmly arrogant and powerful as he was behind a desk,seeing through all Qrow’s bravado and rendering him helpless, possibly _on_ the desk.

He’d never imagined the hesitant, vulnerable, beautiful man sniffling into his chest.A wave of protectiveness rose up inside and he swallowed it back before he could say something stupid. _Oz doesn’t want your promises, not now, maybe not ever.Just be what he needs, here, now. Even if it’s only for this one night._

The thought made his eyes sting.He blinked it away and noticed Oz was quieting in his arms.There were tissues on the bedside table; he handed one over and waited while Oz got himself together. 

“Feeling any better?”

“For the moment, yes, thank you,” Oz sighed. “But I fear it’ll be a few more hours before this runs its course.” He sat up and looked around, a little of the usual self-assurance returning in the set of his shoulders.“I’ll get us some water.Or coffee? Tea?”

“Not hot chocolate?”Qrow slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Practicalities,yeah. 

“Perhaps not the right fit for this occasion.” He heard the smile in Oz’s voice behind him and thought maybe they’d be okay after all.

* * *

 

**Later:**

“It may have been a very long time, Qrow, but I _do_ remember how this used to work.I’ll be fine.”

“Well I remember how it works now, and these days we don’t do that without lube. And preferably condoms.Oz, you know what my reputation is like.No.”

“Given your reputation, I would have thought you’d carry supplies.”

“Yeah, well…the conquest stories might have been a little exaggerated.Recently, I mean.Not altogether....Was that a smirk?”

“Not at all.”

“I still have hands and a mouth, and you’re not going to be complaining. C’mere.” 

 

**Later still:**

“So who sent the flowers?  It was her, wasn’t it?”   

“Mmm.Yes.”Oz burrowed sleepily into his side. 

“A new declaration of war or something?Do we all have to worry about poison now?”Ugh,the student cafeteria.Ugh,his _booze_.

“I don’t think so, it’s not her usual style.This was just…a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

“An anniversary.Go to sleep, Qrow.”

Instead he watched Oz sleep and the light come through the blinds, and listened to the birds singing out _spring, spring is everywhere_ , and felt the creeping tendrils of it blooming in his heart, unstoppable.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was done, but it turned out Ozpin had a lot to say about what it's like inside his head. Short answer: not fun.

There wasn’t very much to being Ozpin, at this point.

Who was he really? What stayed distinct after the massive presence that was Ozma had been poured into his head, inexorably and slowly, crushing him flat with the weight of a thousand years and a hundred whispering voices?

He hit the snooze button for the second time and buried his face in the pillow. _I am still here_ , he told himself, as he did every morning. _These things are mine and only mine._ He counted off the pitifully short list to himself before getting out of bed.

The color green was his. Not a tastefully balanced palette of jewel tones, or workmanlike browns, or even the gold-and-green leather that the King of Vale had worn. Just his favorite color. He was an eccentric fashion disaster and it was profoundly satisfying.

A collection of preferences and habits, stubbornly carved out and clung to. Ozpin, unlike Oskar, liked hot chocolate as much as coffee and never touched alcohol. Ozpin indulged his students far more than Osprey thought wise. Ozpin stood and sat and signed his name in particular ways and had learned to twirl his cane like a cheerleader’s baton because it was fun. He was lonely and he was shy and he was glad of it, because his predecessor had been neither.

This body belonged to Ozpin. He avoided looking in the mirror these days, but he knew what it looked like. Silver-grey hair and whiskey eyes. Bony and tall and pale as snow in Solitas, still too soft and sensitive no matter how hard he fought and trained. Callouses and scars would have been welcome; he wanted a map of his progress on his skin, but Ozma’s Aura rose and ebbed like a tide in his body and lapped away changes. He looked nearly the same at forty-five as he had at twenty.

And last but far from least, Ozpin had a friend.

The headmaster of Beacon Academy had colleagues who valued him, employees and students who looked up to him. Ozma the wizard had allies in his eternal fight. He was fond of all of them and they him. But Qrow, who could not care less about authority or roles, liked _Ozpin._ Just…seemed to like him. And he kept coming back.

Qrow teased him about his clothes, but very gently. He asked questions no one else ever had (“so what’s _your_ favorite fairytale?”) and listened to the answers. He brought back tiny gifts from every mission: a sliver of mica, a bright feather, a funny story. Ozpin had long ago spelled a small piece of the office window to open by itself when Qrow was near; when he knew the man was in town it was very pleasant to think that at any moment his work might be interrupted by the flutter of wings and a chirp, followed by a drawled, “Still at it, Oz?”

Qrow had given him so much. A nickname, countless hours of conversation, keen assistance and unwavering loyalty. And then Ozpin had asked for _more, an unforgivable amount of more_ and - well. Now it might be more accurate to say he had had a friend, past tense.

Today was the twenty-eighth day since he’d woken sticky and alone in his bed smelling of sex and Qrow, his head churning with (terrible) (wonderful) memories old and new. Salem’s anniversary ‘gift’ had been perfectly, diabolically targeted; he couldn’t formulate a strategy against her right now to save his life. Instead he focused desperately on his responsibilities as headmaster each day. When there was nothing left to do (the paperwork hadn’t been this up-to-date since the school was founded) he sat and worried about Qrow’s safety. Under no circumstances did he think about what had happened that night, or why there'd been no word from him.

_This isn’t healthy,_ said Oskar gently inside his head. _Qrow is fine. He’s doing his job as a Huntsman and taking contracts. If you want him to do something else, you need to contact him._

_But I have no idea what to say_ , he thought despairingly.

_Which is why you need to face what happened. Think it all through and sort out your feelings._

_Also,_ put in Osprey, _you’re still in bed and you have a meeting in twenty minutes._

_I said I didn’t want to hear from you._

_You’d rather be late?_

No, there wasn’t much to being Ozpin. But Ozma’s job still needed doing. So he got up and did it for another day.

* * *

 

He was deep into the five-year projections for the Vytal festival budget when Glynda smacked him in the forehead with her riding crop.

He looked up. "Yes?" After a moment he added a perfunctory "Ouch", since that was probably the desired reaction.

A plate of scrambled eggs and bacon was thrust in front of him. "Eat that," snapped his headmistress. If Ozpin hadn't known her for a decade he'd have thought she was furious with him, but for Glynda this was only mild peevishness.

"Thank you, but I have already had break-" He gestured at the tray on the left side of the desk. Two untouched muffins sat on it next to a cup of cold coffee. "Well, apparently I haven't, but I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten properly in weeks and it needs to stop." Glynda leaned forward over the desk, nearly nose to nose with him (and he was so, _so_ sick of the little appreciative sighs Osprey gave whenever she was close). "No matter how dire the problem, starving your body will not solve it. It will only make you vulnerable."

"It's very unfair of you to quote my own words against me."

"It's entirely fair." But she backed off, to his relief, and brought him a fresh cup. "You're certain you're entirely recovered from whatever those flowers did?"

"Completely. And no, again, I will not be consulting the infirmary." He'd had her burn the things, shatter the vase and fumigate the office, and she was still justifiably cross at getting no explanation. He'd rather feed one of his limbs to a Beowulf.

"So then it's just adolescent pining."

He paused with a forkful halfway to his mouth. "Excuse me?"

Glynda tapped his left-hand screen meaningfully. She didn't say anything; she didn't have to, since the mission status list it was displaying had "QROW BRANWEN - IN PROGRESS 4 WEEKS" right in the center.

Ozpin felt himself flush. "I don't -" He cut himself off there, since self-evidently he _did_ and protests would do no good. "I admit to some concern. He's dropped out of sight for long periods before, but it's always been to carry out my orders. Neglecting our cause is quite out of character for him."

Did that sound dignified enough? He hoped so.

"You don't owe me the details," said Glynda, and he knew what was coming, "but whatever the quarrel is, it's making you Completely. Useless." That same one-two jab rising from a gentle to a sharp tone had bullied countless students through their emotional crises and back to class. It stung more than a little to have it directed at him.

"That's not remotely fair. I've been doing an exemplary job as headmaster, as you well know. Moreover, I've now taken care of every single task you have ever nagged me about since you became headmistress. Or have I missed one?" He knew he hadn't. "I'd think you'd be pleased to have me giving Beacon my full attention. You've been asking for it for years." He gave her the serene smile he usually reserved for council meetings, at moments of diplomatic triumph.

The little growl of frustration that came out of Glynda's mouth made up for at least half the lecture. She usually kept her temper in better check. "You'd think I'd have learned by now to be careful what I wish for. Stop being an exemplary headmaster - you're getting in my way and unnerving the teachers." The crop lashed out and hit the desk an inch from his hand. "Finish your breakfast." Thwack. "Call Qrow Branwen." Thwack. "And get on with saving the world." Thwack, about-face and exit in style.

"Thank you," he said to her retreating back, and he meant it.

She paused for a moment in the doorway. "Don't forget the dance tomorrow night."

"I shan't. Team EBON is taking care of decorations this time, yes?"

"Yes. Let's hope the theme isn't some sort of funereal Gothic." And she was gone.

A chorus of voices rose in his head, murmuring variations of _she's right._

Ozpin ignored them all. He did finish off the eggs, granting Glynda one point out of three. Failing to eat had been foolish and melodramatic; there were enough hungry lives in the shifting layers of Ozma-memory to make him a little ashamed of himself. He would not waste the blessings of this life because it didn't contain everything he wanted.

Qrow had better not be overexerting his bird form out there, or falling prey to his own Semblance. He would come back safe, he had to, even if Ozpin had no idea what would happen when he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of v6, Ozpin and Oscar are still two very distinct people sharing a body, and that doesn't seem likely to change soon. So logically, Ozpin must have spent a long time, years even, sharing a body with _his_ predecessor. 
> 
> I'm theorizing here that prior incarnations hang around for a couple of lifetimes in the current host's head, giving advice and gradually fading into the general 'Ozma' identity. It's not unlike living with dissociative identity disorder (multiple personalities).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozpin attempts to think things through and get a grip, as advised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for explicit sex and dubcon in the first part of this chapter, as it's the events of chapter one from Ozpin's POV.

By nightfall he'd admitted to himself that it would have to be done. A month of refusing to remember events had gotten him nowhere; it was time to try the opposite strategy.

Ozpin stood before the mirror and began unwrapping his scarf. _All of you will stay completely quiet_ , he told the voices in his head. _I mean it. Not one of you helped me then and you have_ no right _to witness now._ He felt subdued agreement from Osprey and Oskar; the sea of Ozma-thoughts bubbled with regret and then went still as glass.

Piece by piece, he took off his armor: the impractical little glasses, the velvet coat, the vest, shirt, pants. It had taken him a few years to find the right combination to project friendliness, ageless dignity and at least two feet of personal space.

Naked, he looked more like the awkward teenager who'd woken up one morning and heard Osprey in his head saying with an awful cheer, _Rise and shine, destiny calls!_

Enough dithering. Start with the scent: light and sweet, entirely pleasant, rising up from the white flowers in the vase. Little spread-out stars, rather like Queen Anne's Lace. Oddly familiar - but then, so was nearly everything in Remnant.

It was the note that crystallized it. _Remember, love, how we lay in the grass in spring?_ It stung his hand with a strong buzz of magic, and he dropped it. Then a waterfall of memories cascaded down in his head, instantly drowning other thoughts.

_\- blonde hair and blue eyes and a princess' soft hands, the smell of the flowers, tumbling her to the ground and straddling atop her -_

He'd made hasty excuses to Qrow and run for his chambers. By the time he reached the bedroom he was painfully hard. A cold shower helped, a little, but within a few minutes his skin would begin to prickle with heat again. He could feel the others in his head trying to burrow away and hide from the images that spilled out of Ozma, leaving him to take the brunt. Even worse than the visuals were the intermittent flashes of sensation.

_\- their bodies connected for the first time, holding still to marvel at the feeling as they gazed starry-eyed at one another -_

_\- the soft hands now with long nails, raking down his back as he entered her, pain and pleasure mingling -_

He'd stood in the shower and masturbated for the first time in years, trying to relieve the pressure. Better to think of anything other than Salem - but what frame of reference did he have? No lovers of his own, not even pornography -

And abruptly he'd imagined Qrow standing behind him under the spray, chest warm against his back, breath warm on his ear as he asked, "Doing all right there, Oz?" and Ozpin came hard, gasping.

Necessity erased shame. For a while he'd countered every new image of Salem by thinking of Qrow in the same position, and that helped. But the memories grew more searingly explicit as if in answer, and his imagination wasn't equal to the task.

_\- kneeling between her legs, the way she looked there, the taste of her salt and musk and later strangely sweet -_

_\- She laughed up at him from where she lay, tied to the altar and yet still commanding the room. "As the god and goddess couple," she said, "we summon the bounty of spring." -_

Desperately exhausted, sore and beginning to chafe, he'd finally given in and sent a _please_ to Qrow. What his friend could do for him was unclear in his mind, but not to be alone with the terrible images seemed in itself like relief.

And Qrow had come and been kind to him, rubbed his body dry with innocent affection as Ozpin sat there and tried desperately not to moan. He flushed hot at the memory of his shameful desire revealed and Qrow staring in shock at his penis. But...it had been all right.

More than all right. Ozpin watched himself in the mirror now as his hand rose to trace the paths Qrow had taken. _He kissed me here. Here and here. Left a mark there. Here, over and over._ Letting himself drift in the memory, he pinched his nipple and felt the tiny spark of pleasure. _How strange to think it. I had a lover._

Of all the things he'd expected from life as Professor Ozpin, that had never been one of them.

 _I had a lover and he called me beautiful._ He moved his hand down to touch silver thatch, wonderingly. Qrow had been so very enthusiastic; it bewildered him, but he couldn't deny the sincerity of the words and hands and lips that warmed him all through. Under those ministrations he'd burned hot enough to forget the memories, the curse, himself, everything for a few blissful minutes.

Qrow had looked at him the way Salem used to look at Ozma. It was profoundly disconcerting.

Later on Osprey had 'tried to help' by taking control for a moment and making a suggestion, which had admittedly led to an entirely _new_ set of experiences and sensations. The difference between the dark hot visions he was being lashed with and the utterly embarrassing things Qrow was patiently doing to his body had been so extreme as to make him incoherent.

\- one leg over Qrow's shoulder and the other splayed wide, completely undignified, unable to say anything but _oh, ohhh_ as fingers moved inside him -

 _\- standing over her, Ozma's hand holding a riding crop like Glynda's_ oh gods don't think that _and bringing it down again and again as she keened in delight -_

When the visions had ebbed at last he'd been too exhausted to do more than mumble brief answers and pass out. He pushed aside a small thought about how nice it had felt to simply be held, and focused on an important point: he hadn't properly said thank you. Not afterwards, possibly not at all, he wasn't entirely certain. Did Qrow even know how much he'd helped?

What had the entire mess looked like from his point of view?

Ozpin sighed, turning away from the mirror, and reached for the pajamas folded neatly on the bed. It hadn't been so bad to let himself remember and feel it all again. Without the charged magic sparked off by the flowers, the images of Salem were merely unpleasant. And he'd gained a few things from it.

First, a piece of self-knowledge to add to the list of facts that defined Ozpin: he was homosexual. For whatever meaning that held in a sexless, detached lifetime.

Second, there was no evidence at all that Qrow felt revulsion, or anger, or contempt for him. He had no need to dread the eventual conversation. Qrow had simply chosen to put distance between them. A clear signal that he would respect. _He'll never hold you again. No one will._

Third, he needed to get better control of his emotions, if that thought could cause such a sinking in his chest. Tonight he would lie in the cold empty bed and meditate on the clockwork of the cosmos, the vast gears of deific design and evolution and the strategies of immortals that ground all other lives between their teeth sooner or later. That always helped him regain focus.

 _Where you seek comfort, you will only find pain,_ the God of Light had told Ozma. It hadn't been true. Much more often, he found both.

* * *

 

The next day his mind felt more or less back in order, if tired. He stayed in his office rather than wandering the campus, to please Glynda, and ate on schedule and read reports and sent orders to his pawns in the field (save for one).

When she hit him in the forehead this time, it was only a light tap. "Hmm?" he said, not looking up.

"The dance started half an hour ago. If you'd rather keep working, I can certainly manage things."

"I'd nearly forgotten. No, I'll come down." He quite liked watching his students enjoy themselves for an evening; despite enduring a curriculum that was three-fourths combat training to prepare for a career with a high mortality rate, they could be remarkably childlike and free when given the chance. And they never did catch on to the Teenage Misbehavior Bingo game being played by most of the faculty at these events.

As he stood up and stretched, Glynda looked him over critically. "You seem better," she allowed at last. "I'm glad to see you back to normal."

"Your advice is invaluable, as always." Ozpin gave her a little bow, right hand spreading over his heart.

She arched an eyebrow. "You _are_ feeling better. Courtly style from the old Kingdom of Vale?"

"Appropriate for a duchess." She sniffed, in the way that meant she was pleased but wasn't going to admit it. And she didn't ask any inconvenient questions about whether he'd called Qrow as they rode down in the elevator together.

"Will Ms. Domino be attending tonight?"

Glynda sighed. "No, there's a faunus rights demonstration in the city this evening, and the council wants her there for security. Never mind that protests organized by the White Fang are always peaceful."

"Enlightened tolerance has never been among the virtues of the council. I do hope the two of you are able to spend more time together this summer, at least."

"A seaside vacation. Assuming the headmaster doesn't-" The doors slid open on the ground floor, and she switched tracks without pausing for breath. "MR. ANANSE, your balloon figures would no doubt be very clever, if we were all still in elementary school. You've just volunteered for cleanup. Would anyone else like to join him?"

Ozpin watched her stalk off, smiling to himself. He really should remember to add to his morning litany. Things that belonged to Ozpin: the color green, a few mannerisms, a body, a friend, the memory of a lover, and a headmistress of unparalleled excellence.

 _She's not really yours,_ Osprey pointed out.

Ozpin ambled towards the buffet while imagining in vivid detail what would have likely happened if his predecessor had tried to persuade Glynda to work for him. There was a muffled snort from Oskar and a faint chorus of giggles and snickers from Ozma, and Osprey's dry laugh. _Touche._

Professor Peach handed him a cup of punch and a game card. Luck was with him tonight; he checked off the "Crude Phallic Imagery" box with his fountain pen and tucked the card into his vest, comfortably anticipating a bingo by the end of the dance. The prize was a bottle of Mistral whiskey again this time; Qrow had drunk most of the last one, and if he would only consent to sit in his office and do it again, Ozpin thought he would give nearly anything.

More and more students were arriving. The hall was filled with conversation and music - really quite catchy this decade, he was pleased the scratchy dustpop stuff had gone out of fashion - and all the colors of the rainbow, in gowns and silk shirts set off by sharp black tuxes. The teachers looked downright dull in their regular clothes, but it wasn't their occasion to shine, after all. Oobleck hadn't even bothered to tuck in his perennially loose shirttail. He was talking a mile a minute as usual, gesticulating with his cup as he made some point to -

Qrow. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations.

There he was, standing on the other side of the dancefloor and chatting as though he hadn't driven his employer to the point of nervous breakdown for the last month. Ozpin found himself checking all the little barometers of health he was used to looking for: angle of shoulder slump, darkness under the eyes, the amount of scruff on his chin. No visible bandages. His outfit looked clean and even pressed. This was not a Qrow who'd arrived straight from a difficult mission.

He should be relieved, and yet the feeling in his gut as he walked towards them was more of a sullen ache. _Stop it_ , he told himself, glad that the others were keeping quiet. _Personal feelings won't do either of you any good._

Qrow took a drink from the cup of punch in his hand - not his flask, another good sign - and nodded to Oobleck. "Yeah, they've been patient for years, but they won't stay that way and I can't say I blame 'em. Some of the ways I've seen faunus treated out there would make any decent person sick. The humans in Vale don't realize -" He broke off as Oobleck pointed, and turned around.

They stared at each other.

"I'll just go fetch my bingo card before they're gone, good to see you Mr. Branwen, Headmaster -" Oobleck disappeared with his usual speed and tact.

"Hey," said Qrow, after the silence had stretched uncomfortably.

He'd navigated ten thousand difficult conversations over Ozma's existence, he could handle this one. "You look well."

Qrow shrugged. "Not a hard contract. I got back this morning, realized tonight was the spring dance, and figured I'd make an effort." His voice had gone soft, the way it did when he talked about his nieces. "How've you been?"

"I -" He should say _Well, thank you,_ or perhaps _As well as can be expected._ Not _I missed you._ Absolutely not _I've been trying not to think about all the places you put your tongue, but now you're right here and so is your mouth and it's very disturbing._ "I -"

Inside his head, two voices sighed at exactly the same pitch of sympathetic exasperation.

The little sidelong smile that appeared on Qrow's face should have been a smirk, given how badly Ozpin was floundering, but it wasn't. If anything his voice gentled further. "Any more, uh, problems with packages or anything like that?"

Oh. "No, nothing further. I don't expect a direct attack from her again." That particular anniversary only came around once in five hundred years. He should have been aware it was coming due; his own particular blind spot was to blame, no matter that his predecessors had missed it too.

"You realize that doesn't make a whole lot of sense. If she can attack us this easily with some kind of bioweapon, why wouldn't she?"

It was a completely logical question and Ozpin was never, ever going to explain the answer. If there was one lesson he had fully learned from Ozma it was that no one could handle knowing what he and Salem were to each other. _I know how she thinks. We've played a bloody chess game across Remnant for thousands of years, and her tactics are brutal but they never change. Neither do mine. The pawns just get moved around and die._ Not the speech of an inspirational leader.

Instead he said, "It sounds strange, I know, but yet again I'm afraid I must ask you to trust me."

"You know I do," said Qrow, and the simplicity of it nearly took his breath away. How had the wary half-feral student whose first words to him had been "How'd you scam your way into this job?" grown into this man? When had it become easier to get through a bad day not by thinking "preserve the world" but by thinking "be worthy of the faith Qrow has in you?"

Belatedly Ozpin realized he'd fallen silent again. Qrow put down his own drink, then reached out and took the cup of punch from his hand with warm calloused fingers. He didn't let go afterwards.

"Wanna dance?" he said.

Ozpin blinked. "What?"

"You always come to these things and you never dance. You must know how, right?" Qrow tugged him forward and Ozpin went. Positions and movements swirled up in the currents of Ozma's memory; he chose a modern waltz, setting his free hand on Qrow's arm and letting himself be gathered close. Qrow's hand burned warm at his lower back as they moved haltingly into the steps.

"Sorry, I'm not real good at this. Never had much cause to learn."

"Perhaps I can teach you sometime," Ozpin said impulsively. Only last night he'd forced himself to accept that they'd never touch again, and now... It felt like a dream.

"I'd like that."

Qrow's eyes were really most unusual, the shade of a glass of Vacuo red, and Ozpin had always thought them rather handsome but now he felt himself waxing downright poetic. He opened his mouth to say something utterly fatuous and nearly bit his tongue as a pair of bodies slammed sideways into them.

"What the fuck, man, watch where you're moving, if you're this brain-dead on the floor you're going to get eaten alive on theEEP Headmaster sir, uh, sorry!"

Qrow was stumbling backwards, his foot slipping at what Ozpin knew from experience was going to be the worst possible angle. He darted forward and caught him by the shoulders just in time to prevent a pileup of dancers.

"Mr. Cortland, Miss Thibaux," he said crisply to the couple before they could slink away into the crowd, "common courtesy is as important to your survival on the battlefield as martial prowess. The colleague who bumps into you today may be in a position to save your life later. We don't cover this fact in class because we expect you _to already know it._ Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled the student who'd yelled. His partner looked as though she wanted to sink through the floor. Qrow had recovered himself with a hiss of frustration and looked ready to tear into both of them; Ozpin took his elbow and moved them briskly towards the back of the room before anything else could happen.

"Let's go out to the courtyard, shall we?"

"Sorry," muttered Qrow. "That's me, always an exciting date."

"Not every accident is caused by your Semblance." The courtyard was empty, but in unspoken agreement they headed for the most secluded corner anyway. There was a bench and a large bush for cover, and probably - well. The less he contemplated Qrow's romantic history, the better.

"Oh, so now you're saying I'm just clumsy?"

"Hush." They settled on the bench, thigh against thigh, and he needed to speak now before Qrow simply started kissing him. "Why did you leave? I assumed -" He trailed off, unwilling to say any of it out loud. "I certainly didn't expect our next meeting to be an exciting date, as you put it."

He could see the possibility of immediate kisses receding as Qrow sat up straighter. "Heh. Me either, though I'm sure not complaining." He sighed. "The truth is, I was scared."

"Of what?" Surely not of him.

"I... look, I was positive you were going to wake up and say thanks for the help, this never happened, you understand how it has to be, let yourself out if you don't mind. And I really, really didn't want to hear it." He gave a little self-deprecating shrug, looking down at his hands. "Figured I'd better stay away till I could talk myself into behaving like an adult. Not the most fun month I've ever had."

 _Thought so,_ murmured Osprey.

 _You thought no such thing_. Aloud he said, "That would have been the sensible thing to say, I won't deny it. And yet I don't think I could have."

"Then how come you never called?" The rough husk of Qrow's voice dropped even lower on the last word.

He could not say _I was scared too,_ not even to Qrow. Admitting weakness outside his own head had not been allowed since he was fifteen years old. Three plausible lies came to mind at once, all of them tasting like ashes in the back of his throat. _No._ He settled on "Intimacy is not...something lightly embarked on in my position," and followed up immediately with a distraction. "You don't want to pretend it didn't happen. What is it that you do want?"

It worked; Qrow reached out and took both of Ozpin's hands, the questions fading from his eyes at once. "What I want? Oz. I want to do all of that again, plus everything we didn't get around to. I want to wake up next to you and not leave." With each sentence he kissed a fingertip. "I want to go back to your office together and have breakfast and get crumbs on your paperwork. I want you to read me more stories. Maybe go somewhere together, let you get away from this place for once."

Deep inside him it felt as though a great knot was loosening, an ache he'd carried forever making itself known even as it eased. _Oh._ He wasn't sure what to say.

"It's not like anything's really changed. You're not gonna stop sending me out on missions. But," Qrow leaned in until their foreheads touched, "I promise to come back to you. Every time, for as long as I can. Okay?"

And then it was easy, because all he had to do was say "Yes," and move forward into the kiss.

There was a buzzing in his pocket. Then in Qrow's. Then his again. He pulled his mouth away - Qrow let out a grumbly sigh that expressed his feelings perfectly - and answered his scroll with the speaker on. "Glynda."

_"There was a large explosion downtown, near the protest. Apparently some sort of bomb. I can't reach Domino."_

Oh, no. "Go, of course. I'll send Qrow to meet you there."

She hung up. He shared a grim look with Qrow, who was already standing up and rolling his shoulders. It was entirely unlike Glynda to skip the reminders, admonitions and status reports.

"Guess I was right, the faunus are done being patient. Or someone is, anyway. See you at your place when I get back?"

"Please." Qrow would come to his bed again, without pretense this time. A tiny spark of something hot and savage flared to life in his chest, unquenched by an equal wave of nervousness. He swallowed both feelings back and managed to give an authoritative nod. "Good hunting."

Qrow tilted his head and smirked, looking him up and down for a long appreciative moment. Ozpin felt uncomfortably transparent. "I'll hunt up some supplies while I'm out there. Catch you later." He winked and was abruptly in motion, running up the courtyard wall in two strides and dropping off the side.

Ozpin watched the black bird rise up and soar towards the city. He should go back and lend his presence to the dance, he knew; the other teachers would be handling things perfectly well, but it was always prudent to let people see a calm leader in times of unrest. And yet he remained sitting on the bench.

 _Well?_ he asked after a few minutes of silence. _You may as well get on with it. Tell me all the reasons I'm being a fool and this is a terrible idea._

 _No,_ said Osprey slowly, thoughtfully, _I don't think I will this time. I rather like your Qrow._

_You do?_

_He's loyal, utterly besotted, and astonishingly patient with your...notable inadequacies in this area. For heavens' sake, he let you sob all over his chest like an overwrought child and never said a word about it. I don't think he'll ever bring it up if you don't. If anyone's tactful enough to partner with you, it's him._

_It'll end badly,_ he told himself as much as the others. _Sooner or later._

 _It always ends badly,_ said Oskar. _It always hurts. But sometimes it's worth doing anyway._

Oskar never spoke about his marriage, and by tacit agreement they all stayed far away from those memories. Ozpin knew only that it had been happy and long and that there were great-grandchildren in the south of Vale. He'd seen a name in the newspaper once and felt a dull stab of pain before looking away.

He'd wished so many times that kind, patient Oskar had been his immediate predecessor. But Oskar spoke less every year; someday he would fade into the endless shifting chorus of the Ozma-sea, and Ozpin and Osprey would be alone on the shore.

 _Well,_ he thought without bothering to hide the tinge of bitterness, _I'm grateful for the lack of opposition at least._ (In the background the sea-voices muttered their own approval in fragmented phrases: _kind boy, nice ass, pity about the booze, good with his mouth._ ) _If you could refrain from commenting on my_ inadequacies _like a sports announcer while we make love, it would be appreciated._

Osprey sighed. After a moment he said, _I'm sorry,_ and Ozpin nearly fell off the bench in surprise.

_You what?_

_We've never meshed well, you and I. I was much too hard on you in the beginning, and it's...damaged you. I'm sorry._

_Yes, well, you've never taken pains to hide your opinion of being stuck with a meek, undersexed, passive, overemotional child as a successor._

_You'll find out yourself one day how frustrating it is to be relegated to the back seat. But you're right. I wanted you to be more like me. You're not. That doesn't make you a bad person._

It was the kindest thing Osprey had ever said to him. If he'd still been eighteen those words would have meant the world; now they were just distantly appreciated and a little suspect. _Why are you being nice all of a sudden?_

_Because you're finally in a relationship, one that will be good for you no less, and I want to help. You deserve to be happy._

And that did mean the world, foolish though he knew it was to think so. _Thank you._

_You do know what he meant by supplies, yes?_

_YES._ He was very thankful they weren't having this conversation in public.

_And...you realize what he's likely to expect from you in future?_

_Stop trying to be tactful, you're extremely bad at it. Just tell me what you think I should do._

_Well._ Osprey paused; he really was trying to be tactful about this, Ozpin realized. _The situation was unusual to say the least, so it was understandable at the time. But you don't seem to have noticed even in hindsight._

 _Noticed what?_ He'd noticed quite a number of things very intensely.

_It was all about you. It's still all about you, in your memory. That poor man was almost ready to combust at a few points. But you never thought to reciprocate, and he wasn't going to ask._

Oh. No. It was true, he realized in horror. He'd accepted everything Qrow did, let himself be moved like a pliant doll, but given nothing back. Osprey was right, he was too passive.

 _Let him alone, Osprey,_ said Oskar. _The two of them will figure things out._

 _No._ Ozpin took a deep breath. _I want to do this_ _right for him. I want to make him happy. This is your area of expertise; tell me what to do and I'll listen._

He could feel the teeth in Osprey's smile. _For starters, if I were you, I'd meet him in your office. He's probably fantasized about things to do on your desk for_ years _._

He was a forty-five-year-old scholar and warrior of great dignity. He did not make small unnerved _eep_ sounds. And he certainly wasn't hurrying back to the tower to make sure no one heard them. He'd walk at a normal pace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm headcanoning Osprey as the dapper incarnation with the moustache we see in Jinn's vision. Oskar might be the dark-haired fellow with the family, but I'm not certain. 
> 
> And I have so many thoughts about the tactical warfare between Salem and Oz, and there is no room for them in this fic but AGH THOUGHTS.
> 
> Port won the bingo game by being the first to intervene in a Screaming Breakup Argument. He also used the Free Space (Bad Dancing), Attempted Punch Spiking, Inter-Team Dance Battle, and Earsplitting Shrieks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the final chapter, but it's proving to be both long and tricky to write. So here's the first couple of scenes as a stopgap.

The parking lot was covered in rubble, twisted metal and broken glass; here and there a dark splash showed where someone had been unlucky enough to be standing. Qrow had managed to find a few melted bits of wire, but he wasn't a bomb expert and anyway he doubted there was more to learn than "yeah, something blew up real good here."

He gave up the search and wandered back to Glynda and her partner. Domino leaned against the patrol car, making notes on her scroll; she'd be up all night documenting this thing and preparing to get blamed, even though there wasn't a damn thing she could've done to prevent it. Glynda stood like a soldier at attention - if he ever saw her slouch like a normal person, he'd know things were well and truly fucked - and stared at the wreckage as though it personally offended her.

"Just wave your wand and fix it. You know you want to."

She snorted. "If I do, the council will accuse her of covering up evidence. If I don't, they'll take it as proof we don't care about the welfare of the city."

Sounded about right. Give him giant monsters over local politics any day. "Yeah. Look, is there anything else I can do to help right now?"

Domino smiled tiredly at him. "Probably not. Thanks for helping with the wounded."

"No problem." He hesitated; this had taken hours already and he had something much better to do with his night, but... "You know all the faunus you just arrested are innocent, right?"

"Almost certainly. What can we do, though?" She sighed. "Whoever did this was testing the waters, I think. Getting a read on public opinion. The trials won't be fair and they're probably counting on that."

Ugh. "Glynda, can you at least get them out on bail? I know Oz has the discretionary funds."

"We're supposed to be neutral, Qrow. The council already sees Beacon as favoring the faunus too much. No."

"So funnel it through a third party. Maybe that new bookshop owner in town, Tukson, he's got his head screwed on straight. Whatever. I've gotta report back."

Glynda stopped him by tapping her riding crop lightly on his head. "So you've made up, then?"

She couldn't have any idea about the flower thing. Qrow would take that secret to the grave, Oz hadn't even needed to ask. "Yeah. Did he miss me?"

"It was pathetic."

"Heh."

* * *

 

He'd worked out a plan, all last month flying around miserably in the wilderness as the world's most effective Grimm magnet. It was a solid plan. It had four stages:

  1. Get close enough to sober to fake it. Walk up to Oz and say hey in a perfectly normal voice. Ask about the world-saving thing to demonstrate calm professionalism. Chitchat. Tell him you think Jimmy could use some help up north these days, and to just call you in Atlas when there's a mission to run. Don't look him in the eyes.  

  2. Leave early. Pick up a half-decent bottle of whiskey and take it to your hotel room. It's a dive, it won't matter if anyone hears you.  

  3. When you're done with the hangover, fly back to Patch and talk to Summer. It's kinda pathetic when your former unrequited crush has to comfort you about your current one, but them's the breaks.  

  4. Annoy Jimmy enough to keep you both entertained, but not so much that he throws you out. Which he won't, anyway, he's got a real mushy soft heart under all that metal. Maybe some of the new cadets will be fun to tease.  




Step one had come to a screeching halt at "hey". Ozpin the unflappable, keeper of secrets and international diplomat, had looked like a deer in headlights. He'd stammered and flushed and it was suddenly, gloriously clear that Qrow did not need the plan. He wasn't even going to need the hotel room.

 _He loves me. He loves me._ It was a stupidly dangerous thing to think, given how little Oz had actually said, but Qrow's brain was chanting it anyway all the way to the drugstore. _He said yes. He kissed me. He's waiting for me and this time we both know why._ He should not be grateful to Salem, that was ridiculous, but if she hadn't attacked would they ever have had this? He could've died without ever knowing how soft Oz's hair was, or how his tongue came shyly out to play if you kissed him long enough, or the little noise he made when you nosed at his balls to get more of the scent.

Qrow was such a sap.

He reined it in once he got to the store, because why be someone's late night soap opera entertainment, and kept a serious and slightly bored expression on while browsing. Two sizes of condoms, because it'd be rude to make assumptions even if he was pretty sure which way Oz would prefer things. The most expensive lube on the shelf. Cleanup stuff. Do not buy eight kinds of snacks just in case he gets the munchies at 3am, Qrow.

The familiar-looking old man raised a bushy eyebrow at his purchases. "Flowers?" He pointed to a display of prepackaged rose bouquets.

" _Definitely_ not."

Outside he double-checked the time before shifting back to bird form: past 1 already. There was a message on his scroll from two hours ago. _Meet at my office instead._

Something must have come up. The odds were looking increasingly stacked towards just sleep tonight. Not such a bad prospect, with those big green pillows and Oz tucked securely under his arm, head on his chest. They had time now.


	6. Chapter 6

Being unimaginably old obviously came with some benefits. Mastery of a whole bunch of skills, including some you'd never expect. Wisdom. Crushing opponents at trivia games. But aesthetic sense? Not so much.

The office wasn't _ugly_ , exactly. But by the time you'd dragged one of the spindly visitor chairs all the way across the huge expanse of bare metal floor and found out how uncomfortable it was to sit on, you'd also noticed how things echoed in the otherwise eerie silence. How there wasn't a single soft surface, or anyplace to set things down except the big desk. How there was always clockwork moving somewhere in your field of vision.

And Oz stayed in there alone _all the time._ He was sitting at the desk now, displays flickering blue in the air in front of him, chin propped on his hands. Probably been there for hours, the idiot. Qrow added "backrub" to the mental list of things he wanted to do tonight as he squeezed in through the open windowpane and perched for a moment to fluff out his feathers. (And that was another thing. Who built a tower so ridiculously tall that a bird got soggy from cloud condensation every time he flew up? He wasn't about to agree with Glynda's 'overcompensation' rants, but it made you wonder.)

He flapped over behind the desk and let himself shift back. If Oz had noticed him he gave no sign, up until Qrow was leaning right over his shoulder. "Still at it? It's late."

He'd said the words a hundred times. He'd stood this close before, when he was younger and dumber, dared to breathe them almost into his ear, and Oz had never reacted at all. He did now. Qrow saw the tiny shiver run through him and the way his eyes slid shut for a moment, and grinned.

"Mm. Merely waiting for you." Oz sat up a little straighter and tapped the desk; the displays vanished. "What happened?"

"Bomb. Two dead, eleven wounded. Someone wants human-faunus relations going to hell in a handbasket, and they'll probably get what they want." Glynda could do whatever she wanted with the bail idea, he wasn't going to bring it up now and risk getting into an argument. "Nothing we can do about it right now. You ready to call it a night?"

"Yes." But he made no move to stand; he turned the chair a little, looking up at Qrow. "How long has it been?"

"Four, five hours? It's after 1."

"No," said Oz in the patient but slightly chiding tone he used when someone was slow to get one of his lessons. "How long have you wanted this? Me."

Oh. "That's, uh, you know. A while." Since it looked like they weren't going anywhere for a bit, Qrow set down Harbinger and took his usual seat on the desk. It was oddly paper-free tonight, the glass and brushed chrome polished to a gleam that was almost uncomfortable to his tired eyes.

"Well." This was embarrassing. "There was the stupid crush I had on you back in second year. It was real nice of you to pretend you never noticed, by the way - what? _Oz._ I spent the night camped out in front of your office door, no one's oblivious enough to miss that." The memory made him cringe. Raven had mocked him mercilessly, and blackmailed him into doing her homework, and after all that she'd told Tai anyway at the end of the school year.

"You underestimate me," murmured Oz dryly. "So, since then?"

"Nah, I got over it." Qrow waved a hand airily. "Third year you started bringing us in on things, and it was time to stop playing around. I wanted to be on Team STRQ, World-Saving Badasses, not Team Hormonal Idiots."

"You never thought about it after that?"

Why was he asking? "You fishing for compliments now? You know what you look like, Oz. You inspire plenty of thoughts." Not a tactful thing to say, not when he knew how uncomfortable the admiration of strangers made the headmaster. There were still rumors in the city about that one magazine, years ago, that dared to print a cover feature on "Vale's Hottest Bachelor" and was under new ownership within the month. 

But it wasn't real tactful to rake up old memories either, and Qrow was not in the mood to talk about certain very private and complicated feelings. He would never be in the mood. "Why the quiz, anyway? Does it matter?"

He said it lightly, but Oz must've sensed something; he rolled back a few inches, the intent look on his face fading a little. "I didn't mean to press you. I only wondered, well..."

Qrow swung a leg out to catch underneath the chair and tug it back closer, to show that he wasn't really miffed. "Yeah?"

"If there was anything you'd thought about in all that time, that you'd like to do."

"Ohhh. So you weren't fishing for compliments, you were fishing for fantasies. Pretty bold for a guy who couldn't answer simple questions earlier tonight." It was, really. Oz was meeting his eyes steadily and not even blushing.

"I did have several hours waiting for you to think about it." The little smile on his lips was a challenge. Shock me, it said.

Honestly, Qrow thought he'd rather spend some time on in-depth study, for example learning all the best ways to kiss those lips, before spicing things up. He wanted to reach for Oz's hand and tell him there was no rush. But there was an expectation in the brown eyes watching him, assessing, and he couldn't disappoint.

"Well. I did think about what we might get up to here in the office, a few times," he offered.

"Did you."

"Not detention fantasies or anything! Just, you know, you pinning me to the desk and so on. Of course that was before I knew what you were really like...Oz?"

With slow deliberation, Oz took the spectacles off his face and tucked them into his jacket. Their eyes met as he rose from the chair, and yeah, _pinned_ was maybe the right word, because the intensity of that gaze made Qrow feel like a bug stuck to a collector's board. He couldn't look away. Oz was leaning in now, taking him by the shoulders with strong hands, the softness of the green scarf and the faint scent of him tinged with cologne and oh, there was nothing shy about this kiss at all.

In fact, that thing he was doing with his tongue, _damn._ Qrow slid his hands into soft grey hair and tried to keep up. This really was straight out of his fantasies, and maybe something seemed odd but his body was entirely on board with things. He brought his knees up to bracket Oz's hips and leaned back a little, pulling them into a slow grind against each other.

Suddenly Oz thrust _hard,_ tongue and hips together, and Qrow melted beneath him. So good. This was so good. This couldn't be the man who'd hardly dared look at his cock all night, who'd shivered and gasped at the first touch to - wait.

Long fingers were deftly undoing his fly, reaching in.

Wait-

"Wait-" he managed to gasp.

The hand that curled around him was expert, he knew instantly, it was going to do more than the fumbling caresses he'd traded with strangers behind bars and in cheap rooms; this hand was thumbing right up to that spot behind the head and knew just how hard to press -

"Hmm?" Oz's voice was practically a purr, amused and predatory.

One of the first lessons he'd learned in the tribe was: always have a weapon in reach that no one else knows about. The knife was small and slender, mostly just good for cleaning fish, but Qrow had practiced until he could draw it in less than a second. He held it to Oz's throat with one hand and gestured at his lap with the other. "Let. Go."

Oz pulled back his hand and watched with calm interest as Qrow tucked himself back into some kind of dignity. He didn't even bother acknowledging the existence of the knife. "Nerves?" he asked.

"Who are you? What have you done with the real Ozpin?" Qrow's mind was racing even faster than his heartbeat. _Can he use the same magic, if he can I'm screwed, no one will believe this, what did he do to -_

"I'm definitely myself, Qrow, I'm not sure why you would think otherwise." And his smile was an Oz smile, but it was the one that said: I throw students off cliffs for purely educational reasons. Fear and pain are lessons. Think of this as a pop quiz.

"You're not the guy I was talking to earlier tonight. And you're definitely not the guy I slept with a month ago." _Keep him talking. I'm closer to the cane than he is, maybe I can keep it out of his reach -_

"Everyone has different facets to them. Calm down, Qrow. I don't know what you're imagining, but the real Professor Ozpin is not locked in a closet somewhere. It's just me." Not-Oz (maybe-Oz?) plucked the knife from Qrow's hand effortlessly and tossed it aside on the desk. "I didn't mean to confuse you. Okay?"

Qrow had attuned himself to that voice for years, and he felt himself responding to it now even as part of his brain continued to insist _wrong wrong wrong._ He let his hands be taken and squeezed gently.

"Although, if you did hypothetically insist on there being two of me, I do wonder which would be considered the impostor. The headmaster you've looked up to all these years? Or the fragile flower you're suddenly romancing? Would you simply pick the one you liked best?"

Before Qrow could even begin to process this new horrible idea, Oz's face contorted in a brief spasm of pain. A greenish-amber light glimmered across his eyes and was gone.

"Well," he said in a much fainter voice than before, "that was a disaster. I'm sorry."

Qrow stared at Oz(??), who stared at their still-linked hands. The silence stretched out. That subliminal sense of _wrong_ was gone, though he wasn't sure what had changed.

"Are we done with the weird stuff now?" he asked finally.

"Yes." Still quiet and subdued.

"Can you prove you're you?" Why hadn't he asked that earlier, instead of sitting there like a chump letting that voice lull him?

Oz(probably) didn't answer for a minute, which was fine because Qrow was still mentally catching his breath. Finally he murmured, "You said you'd rather be your namesake."

"When?"

"That morning, when I came up to the office and found you sleeping against the door. I asked you why and you told me at great length about your Semblance and the unfairness of life and Mr. Xiao Long having sex with your sister in your dorm room all night." Oz(definitely) smiled down at their hands. No message in it this time, just a soft turn of his mouth. Maybe he didn't even know he was doing it. "You were very eloquent."

"I was a pest, is what I was. Sorry."

"No. You were merely unhappy. ...So was I, to be honest, and listening to your troubles distracted me from my own. You said you'd rather be a literal crow, flying around battlefields and eating eyeballs, because then at least you'd only cause trouble for the dead. Also that there might be shiny things. I said I believed that was magpies, and we argued about it. You ate the pastries I'd brought for breakfast and every other bit of food in the office."

He had to laugh. "I can't believe you remember all that. And I still don't know why you let me get away with it."

"It was charming. And it came to mind the following year, when I needed scouts."

"All right, you're definitely you. But - look up, okay, just look at me, I'm not gonna bite. What the _hell_ happened there? Am I going to get an explanation, or will you ask me to just trust you?" Qrow let the "again" hang in the air, unsaid but loud.

(Just because he let Oz get away with the stonewalling and evasions and secretiveness didn't mean he didn't notice. He wasn't _dumb_.)

Oz had been seriously considering it, judging by the way he bit his lip. But then he sighed, the lines between his eyebrows smoothing out in resignation, and met Qrow's eyes properly. "Of course you deserve answers. And it may be unprecedented for me to say this, but I believe you are in need of a drink."

"Truest thing I've heard all night."

* * *

 

They ended up in the front room of the apartment, sitting together on the green sofa and sort of cuddling. Oz had barely touched his cocoa; Qrow had claimed the good whiskey and was drinking straight from the bottle. It wasn't making him like what he heard any better.

"No privacy at all? Everything you do, everything you think? Since you were _fifteen_?"

"I won't say it hasn't been difficult."

"Difficult isn't really the word I'd use. Torture, maybe." Qrow took a swig. "I remember fifteen. Hating life in the tribe, hating all the alternatives, trying to figure out if I liked girls or boys or both or what. It's a hard time for everyone. Having adults in your head watching..." He shuddered. "And you couldn't ask them to plug their ears and face the wall when you needed some alone time in the bedroll?" Or at the latrine pit. Or to cry your eyes out. The more he thought about it, the worse it sounded.

"They pretended to at first, certainly. But we all knew it was a lie." Oz slumped a little farther into him, and Qrow hugged his shoulders a bit tighter. He'd shed the jacket and vest and scarf; the three undone buttons on the dark green dress shirt would be doing things to Qrow's heart rate if the whole evening hadn't been such a mood killer. "They went through the same experience themselves, after all."

Oz sounded so tired. Crap, it was after three. "Okay. So, sometimes it's you talking, and sometimes it's someone else. I got that part. What I don't get is why that _jerk_ took over and crashed our date. To put it as politely as possible."

He didn't feel like being polite. He felt like punching someone's lights out, and then taking a shower to get the memory off his skin.

Oz mumbled something into his chest. Qrow stroked his hair. "Hmm?"

"I asked him to."

He couldn't possibly have heard that right. "You what?"

"It was a carefully considered decision." Oz pushed himself upright and away from Qrow with a sigh. "I know it sounds strange, but we've found over the years that it can be beneficial -"

"Oz, it's not a -"

"Hear me out. While most of the time I do keep control, it simply makes sense to let a prior incarnation handle a situation in which they have significantly greater expertise." Oz folded his hands and sat up straighter, his shoulders going back; the posture was familiar from dozens of tense meetings. "Tonight, after some discussion, we concluded that you were likely to prefer Osprey's approach to...in these matters." There went the pink creeping up his cheekbones again. This time, it didn't seem quite as cute. "Obviously, that was a miscalculation."

The bottle was empty. Shame about that, because alcohol was Qrow's standard antidote to unpleasant feelings, and suddenly he had a lot of those. Punching was a very appealing second choice; for a moment he imagined it, nothing damaging, just a blow hard enough to crackle his aura and knock some of the damned _arrogance_ off that face. Oz might not even block. He knew he'd fucked up, even if he wouldn't really own up to it.

No. Afterward it'd be the cheap hotel room and the hangover, and Qrow wasn't going back to that plan even if this was the worst, most bizarre date ever. They'd get through somehow with words. Deep breath. "Okay. Defensive bullshit aside -"

Oz flinched.

"- what could _possibly_ make you think this was okay? If you weren't up for anything you could have just _said._ Instead you just, what, told someone else to pretend to be you and...do that to me? Give me a reason here, Oz, cause I'm not seeing one. Why would you ever think I would want that?"

"Because I'm not good at it!" snapped Oz. "You know that." He sighed and the proud tension seemed to go out of him all at once, his shoulders slumping. "It wasn't a question of... You were kind to me. I wanted you to be happy."

It wasn't hard to translate that as _I'm afraid I'll bore you and you'll leave._ Didn't excuse anything, but Qrow knew about fear and stupid impulses. "And you really thought I'd be happier with -" _under,_ the treacherous part of his brain said, _and you loved it_ "- that guy than you? Can't say that I liked him much."

"I didn't think you'd be able to tell the difference," Oz said simply. "It's been thirty years now, and no one else has noticed, or if they did they merely thought it a change in mood." His mouth crooked sadly. "Perhaps I should have known better. You see me more clearly than anyone."

And that said a lot of things about Oz's life which Qrow wasn't ready to unpack right now. He sighed, and tried to let the anger go. "Look, it's late. Let's just write tonight off as a failure and we'll talk about it later, okay?" The drugstore plastic bag sat on the floor next to Harbinger, in the totally-useless-right-now corner. The smiley face logo on it looked mocking from this angle.

Oz nodded, or maybe just lowered his head in defeat. "Of course." He reached for his cane and struggled to his feet, moving more stiffly than Qrow had seen in a while. "Will I - see you tomorrow?"

"You want me to take off, then?" When Oz was having trouble with his leg, it was best to give him space and pretend not to notice. And maybe they could both use some space right now.

He heard the slight catch of breath before the answer. "- No." He watched Oz hobble away into the bedroom, straight back and faltering legs, and leave the door ajar behind him.

_Follow him_ said the ache in his chest. _I can't deal with this on an empty flask_ said the ache in his head. Yeah, maybe listening to random body parts wasn't the way to go here. He was an agent, wasn't he? And the last couple hours had certainly provided a lot of intel, in a horrible kind of way. Add it up.

  1. Oz had _other people in his head._ They'd watched Qrow get naked and emotional and say things he hadn't meant anyone else to know, ever. They'd watched a whole parade of Dumb Qrow Behavior, all the way back to "So, how'd you scam your way into this job?" And they weren't going away.  

  2. One of those other people had pretended to be Oz and tried to fuck him (he wasn't going to kid himself about who would have been on top). Maybe he shouldn't be too bothered, considering some of his more dubious past encounters, but he was. Not to mention he couldn't stop wondering: what if that jerk had been a better actor? How long would it have taken him to catch on?  
  
The dark treacherous part of his brain said: _It would have been mindblowingly good sex. You're going to have fantasies about all this later._  
  
An even darker part said, _What other things have you not caught on to yet?_  

  3. Oz didn't seem to really get the problem. He cared, Qrow knew he did, but he'd gone into strategic mode and deployed his resources to most efficiently win the game of "successful date". (Bishop to rook, check: mate in five moves, on top of desk.) And he'd thought of Qrow as a piece rather than a player. He was sorry right now mostly because it hadn't worked and Qrow was mad at him.



Anyone with any sense would be gone already and not coming back. Summer and Tai would tell him to back way off and make their relationship purely world-saving business from now on. If Raven was still here, she'd use her bird form to leave a dead mouse on the headmaster's chair.

Qrow didn't have any sense. Not that that was exactly news.

He didn't want to leave.

What did he want? To have Oz underneath him just like the first time, needy and trusting, all dignity and defenses gone. But maybe that was a fantasy to file away next to the one he'd almost let play out upstairs in the office. Oz definitely wanted something physical from him - they'd been in perfect sync in the courtyard earlier, he'd swear to it - but that didn't mean he was ready to fall into Qrow's arms and let his emotional damage be kissed all better.

_I promise to come back to you,_ he'd said. Real poetic. Qrow hadn't been around a lot of relationships and it wasn't like he'd been taking notes, but he'd had a ringside seat for all the STRQ romance and the only poetic thing he'd seen had been some of the justice. Bickering and shouting and sex and sniping and kissing and sulking and talking it out and compromising, again and again. If you were going to love someone you had to love the whole package. (And the package could blow up in your face, they'd all learned _that_ lesson.)

Qrow wasn't the kind of package anyone wanted. Never had been. But Oz had said yes, and Oz knew every bent and grimy piece of him; since they met he'd put up with Qrow being different combinations of insolent, sullen, horny and stupid with it, angsty, reckless, violent, self-destructive and ninety-nine flavors of drunk. Did those things balance out against a mental peanut gallery, a thousand secrets and a bad habit of manipulating people?

Time to quit stalling and find out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for past dubcon in this chapter.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ There were many more words that could be used to describe the ways he'd just fucked up, and Ozpin was quite certain he'd be employing them all, but for the moment _stupid, stupid, stupid_ echoed in his own voice against a backdrop of stunned silence. What else was there for any of them to say?

Qrow hadn't followed him into the bedroom. Any moment now he'd hear the sound of the front door closing, and then Ozpin would have - he checked his scroll - something under four hours before an exemplary headmaster ought to be in the office. He'd stay on call for the rest of the weekend and let Glynda get some well-deserved rest.

He could go back up and get started on work now, in fact -

(Kissing Qrow this time had been so _different_ , tasting his mouth as Osprey stroked their tongues together. None of the gentleness, and he missed it but there was a thrill to this too - Osprey demanded and Qrow gave. Leaning over him on the desk, those long legs coming up on either side to cradle him, their bodies pressing together and _oh_ Qrow was  _hard_ -)

No, perhaps he would not sit at that desk again yet.

Instead he retreated to the bathroom to change, listening for the sound of the door (what was Qrow doing? Surely he hadn't passed out on the sofa), and then crawled into bed. Unfortunately then there was nothing left to do but stare at the ceiling and call himself stupid while doing the recommended stretches for his leg.

The irony of it was stunning. He'd treasured Qrow's friendship all these years because of his perceptiveness; from their very first day at Beacon, the Branwens had looked at the headmaster and seen just a young man struggling to act like an authority figure. And unlike his sister, Qrow hadn't thought it was a bad thing.

Even being brought into the inner circle hadn't changed his attitude. _Oz. The gods picked_ you _to stop this ancient evil. By yourself. What were they_ smoking? _And you're cursed until it's done?_

_I'm not leaving, Raven. He needs someone to look out for him. Yeah, he's an idiot sometimes, but he's trying to save lives. What? No. Well, maybe I like stupid more than I like killing helpless people and taking their stuff._

It had made him feel warm inside to think that Qrow saw Ozpin, not the wise and calm persona they all maintained as a front for Ozma's memories. None of them had ever suspected just how _much_ he saw.

 _I underestimated him,_ admitted Osprey.

 _You'll need to be extremely careful when lying to him in the future,_ said Oskar.

 _I don't want to lie to him anymore,_ he thought, knowing it was childish. The Ozma-sea hummed sympathetically and a wavelet of memory splashed up around his ankles: _the woman he'd just married looked up at him, her brown eyes luminous and trusting. "Just don't lie to me," she said, taking his hands. "I know you can't tell me everything, and that's okay."_ The echo of old regret that passed through him with her words was so strong that for a few moments he was close to tears.

He should be grateful not to have disillusioned Qrow in worse ways, and to still have his best agent (perhaps even, if he was undeservedly lucky, his friend). And yet -

"Hey."

Qrow leaned against the doorframe, arms folded and one leg drawn up like a tired but elegant gray flamingo. His expression was hard to read in the dim light from the hall. He tilted his head just so; in a meeting, that meant _go ahead, I'll back you up._ Here it felt more like _your move._

Words were failing Ozpin for the second time in one night. _I'm sorry, please don't hate me_ was pathetic. _Come to bed_ was presumptuous. Silently he pushed back the covers, patted the mattress next to him, and held his breath. Would Qrow be offended? No, he was pushing off from the wall, shoulders relaxing, and stepping into the room.

The last time he'd watched Qrow undress he'd been in the grip of a fevered vision about - his mind shied away. Better to focus on the present, and give his full attention to all that bare skin, bony angles and wiry muscle and sparse dark hair. There were parts of Qrow that he'd expected to get very familiar with tonight, but he'd assumed Osprey would be driving; now, watching Qrow step out of his boxers with unselfconscious grace, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about the idea.

Which was silly. If he was somehow being given another chance, he'd do his best. It wasn't as though any of those things were physically _difficult,_ and Qrow had done them with enthusiasm and generosity. Osprey could probably talk him through -

 _Breathe. Stop overdramatizing,_ said Osprey, not unkindly. _You've dealt with battlefield injuries without getting squeamish, and this is_ far _more pleasant. And he's not going to expect you to be skilled._

"Oz?" Qrow had paused at the edge of the bed, probably because Ozpin was looking at him like a first-year student facing a Nevermore.

"It's fine," he managed, and backed up as much as possible to make room (which wasn't very, since he'd long ago traded the large bed that had come with the headmaster's apartment for more bookshelf space). It was only when Qrow had climbed in and pulled up the covers that he realized how fixedly he'd been staring. He flushed and looked away; _stop it,_ he thought firmly, even though the inside of his head was quiet. _I know you're all finding this entertaining._

The almost-there weight of a ghostly hand pressed down on his shoulder. _Every one of us has been where you are now,_ said Oskar. _If not in this situation, then another._

 _That was in no way a denial._ But Ozpin felt the butterflies in his stomach settling, even as he heard suppressed sounds of amusement in the back of his mind. It was true; there was no foolishness or failure he could commit that was new to Ozma. And here in this bed no lives or kingdoms were at stake. Only his dignity, and how much he had of that left was already debatable.

"Hey." Qrow had settled comfortably on his side, close but not touching. "I was thinking we'd just hang out, maybe catch some Zs before you have to get up again. That okay?" The careful tone of his voice suggested he'd noticed exactly where Ozpin had been staring. Amount of dignity remaining: zero.

He huffed a laugh. It was all so _ridiculous_. Suddenly unafraid, he threw his arms around Qrow, who made a startled but pleased noise, and they wriggled themselves into a comfortable embrace. His body remembered how well they'd fit together and moved itself into the same position, head on Qrow's chest, their legs tangled just so. Yes.

"You looked like you just realized something, there." Qrow's strong fingers threaded into his hair and scratched gently; Ozpin sighed in bliss.

"Just the absurdity of it all," he said, half-mumbling into warm skin. "We might as well be in one of those movies you were telling me about. Misunderstandings and interruptions. A skittish virgin and a handsome rake."

"...you're right. We're in a chick flick." He felt as much as heard Qrow's amusement vibrating against his cheek. "Tai can't find out about any of this, I'd never live it down."

 _Or a pre-Kingdoms farce,_ put in Osprey. _Hidden eavesdroppers, mistaken identity. All that's missing is a cross-dressing scene._

 _We even have twins, technically. I suppose I could ask Qrow to wear a skirt again._ Aloud he said, "It's a welcome change from grand tragedy, in some ways. But I am sorry to have hurt you."

Qrow sighed. "Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" The question was quiet, not angry, but Ozpin felt the warm mood evaporate like a soap bubble.

"I -" It couldn't be a trick question, not from Qrow. What was he supposed to say? "I wasn't able to give you what you wanted. To be what you needed. Perhaps I can't be." No one needed a man as fractured as he was, or a permanent invisible audience. Did the Ozma-sea hold _any_ memories of partners who'd been able to live with that particular truth for long?

"Mmm." Qrow's fingers stilled. "Seems like you've come up with some strange ideas about what I need. And I'm starting to think maybe I don't know what you need, either."

 _Just you. However you want things to be. I'll do whatever you want, please don't leave me._ He said nothing, and after a few moments of silence Qrow sighed again.

"Well. We can talk about that later." The hand in his hair went away, which was disappointing but not surprising. "There is something I'm curious about, though."

Ozpin forced himself not to tense up. "Mm?", he managed to respond in a neutral tone. There were so many questions he couldn't answer, things that touched on dangerous secrets or admitted weakness.

Qrow cleared his throat. "Well, uh. That other night. You seemed pretty happy with what we were doing, even though you were really shy. Except when you asked me to -" Ozpin could almost hear the realization clicking into place. "It wasn't you doing the asking, was it. That explains a few things."

"No. But only for a few moments, and that was the only time," he added hastily, before Qrow could begin questioning every conversation they'd had in the last decade. "Recent events aside, it's rare that I cede control these days."

Very rare and by all rights he should have been furious. Instead he pointedly did not say _You promised_ never _to take over like that again, you swore on our mission_ and Osprey pointedly did not say _You needed him to fuck you even if you didn't know it, and you would never have been able to say the words yourself, so I said them for you. You were more than happy with the results._

Being Ozpin meant a lot of silent compromises.

But Qrow was still talking. "The point is, you know I'm not expecting you to be the legendary lover Vladimir of Vacuo." He paused. "Please tell me he's not in your head somewhere too."

Everyone chuckled at that, though Ozpin's was the only voice that sounded in the room. "No. Fortunately. He wasn't a pleasant person to know, especially once the venereal diseases really took hold."

"You really oughta write some history books." Qrow's hand ruffled his hair again, though it didn't stay, moving down to pat his back. "Seriously. Tonight I asked why you did what you did, and you said it was 'because you weren't good at it'. What does that mean? Because I don't think you were just talking about experience."

Not a dangerous question, exactly, but a very unwelcome one. "It's...complicated."

Qrow said nothing; he would wait until he got his answer, Ozpin knew, and no amount of lighthearted banter would make him lose track of the question. 'Trust me' wouldn't deter him either, not in this case.

Well. There was no one alive but Qrow he could bear to say this to, and there was no one but Qrow who would ever want to know. Put that way, there was an inevitability to it. He began indirectly: "Do you remember what you said earlier, about fifteen being a difficult age?"

"Yeah."

"So it was with me. I was rather slow for my age in some ways, in fact, and hadn't put any thought into the direction of my desires. I barely had any. It simply didn't seem important. And then came Ozma, and -" He broke off abruptly. Qrow still didn't know Osprey's name, and Ozpin found he wanted to keep it that way. "And a predecessor who saw no reason why I shouldn't live life exactly the way he had."

Silence in the room, silence inside his head. Listening. Had he ever really put this into words before, even to himself?

"We - we fought a great deal, in the first few years. Things were difficult." Qrow's arms tightened around him, a mute acknowledgement of the understatement. "The nature of my curse guarantees a match with a like-minded soul, but sometimes being too alike isn't a good thing. We were both arrogant. Stubborn. And desperate, he to continue his lost life and me to keep my own identity. It was..." he trailed off, feeling he'd already said too much. "At times it was an ugly conflict."

_Cold dirty bathroom tile against his skin, bile in the back of his throat as he frantically wiped his mouth over and over. The oily feel and taste of lipstick wouldn't go away, and Osprey wouldn't shut up. "- was doing all the work, you just had to sit back and enjoy it. But no, even that was too much for your delicate sensibilities. Are you proud to have ruined that girl's evening? Get up already, stop being pathetic. And for the gods' sake, leave her a decent tip on your way out."_

Ozpin breathed deeply in the dark, taking in the faint comforting whiskey-sweat-musk smell that meant Qrow at the end of a long day, and waited for the memory to fade. His leg ached but he didn't want to move, not when he was being held so affectionately.

"I won, in the end," he said at last into the quiet room. "We reached a truce for the sake of our shared responsibility, and Professor Ozpin the man - what there is of him - lives the life I choose. And we both came to believe that sexuality was just something lacking in this body. A biological defect, in his view. A state of being just as valid as any other, in mine. I even did some research on the subject while I was preparing to become headmaster.

"And that seemed to be that. I would have been content never to - to feel differently." To say any more was impossible; he'd revealed more of himself just now than when he'd let his thighs be coaxed apart.

But Qrow was more than able to put two and two together. "But now that's changing, thanks to S - because of what happened. You're not sure what you want. And tonight you panicked, but you didn't feel like you could call things off. I'm pretty sure the jerk talking to you in your head didn't help." He made a frustrated noise somewhere between a growl and a sigh. "You _know_ how dumb you were being, right?"

Qrow's guess was embarrassingly accurate. The more Osprey had eloquently held forth about technique and expectations (and, gods help him, kink negotiation), the more Ozpin had wanted to hide under his desk and wish he'd been born a eunuch. How had he ever thought he could be enough for someone like Qrow?

Romance was a subject rarely touched on in their conversations, but Ozpin wasn't blind. They'd gone out for dinner now and then, with the rest of the inner circle or just by themselves when the day's business was done but they hadn't wanted to stop talking. And in every restaurant and bar across Vale he saw the turned heads and admiring glances that followed his friend. Waitstaff invariably gave Ozpin and Glynda respectful and attentive service. They gave Qrow their scroll numbers. No doubt he'd left a trail of contented bedmates behind him all across Remnant.

None of which he could say out loud. But he turned his head and pressed a kiss to Qrow's shoulder in tacit admission, and let his hands come up to finally return the embrace. (Why hadn't he thought to do that earlier? He stumbled and failed at every step in this dance of intimacy.)

"Look. I'm not trying to push you into anything. You tell me what you want, when you're ready, and that's enough."

"You're very generous," he blurted out quickly, wanting to say it on his own before Osprey could advise him to. "But I would never hold you to a relationship on those terms. If you wanted to - well." No need to say more. He'd seen the plastic shopping bag in the corner. Unfair to expect fidelity to - what had Osprey called him this time? - a fragile flower.

Though Qrow would be too considerate to flirt with others in front of him from now on, he was certain. Watching those offered scroll numbers be tucked away with a smile had always caused a twinge inside him, something small and sharp and instantly suppressed. The next time they dined out, would Qrow ignore them? Would he hold Ozpin's hand across the table?

" _Oz._ Cut it out with the assumptions, willya?" But Qrow's tone sounded more fond than chiding. "This here, right now. Is this okay?"

Snuggled into Qrow's body, a bit too bony but so warm, strong arms and comforting scent and a friendly voice in the dark. "Yes. Very much. Though I do need to stretch a moment."

"'Course. Here. That better?" Qrow caught his face for a quick kiss before they nestled back together. "And is that okay?"

"Mmm. Yes."

"Then everything else is just icing on the cake."

_Pfffffffffffffffft. I give that noble resolve of chastity two months at most._

_You've no romance left in your soul._ Oskar sounded amused.

 _Both of you hush. For the rest of the night, if you_ wouldn't _mind._ Ozpin put a hint of steel into the request, and felt Osprey recede obediently into the corners of his mind. To his surprise, Oskar stayed put.

_You keep trying to predict what he wants and needs. It makes sense, given the resources you have to draw on. But may I suggest an alternate strategy?_

Oskar's advice, valuable as it was, usually amounted to 'stay calm, think clearly, it's going to be all right'. This had the ring of something different. _Go on._

_The expert on what Qrow wants and needs is Qrow. Ask him, not us. And when he tells you, listen._

_That sounds far too simple and sensible to work._ He was only half-joking.

_You made a good start, earlier. Keep going._

He felt like an oyster half pulled out of its shell already, far too exposed. But Oskar was right, and Qrow had said what he wanted. He took a deep breath.

"I did like it. That night, the...what you did. All of it." It came out sounding rather more high-pitched than intended. His face felt like it was on fire, and pressing against Qrow's chest did nothing to cool it.

"Yeah?" Qrow stroked his back in a way that was both soothing and slightly irritating. He wasn't a nervous cat at the vet. He was a grown man admitting difficult truths.

"And I -" Why were these things so hard to say? Not weakness, just...vulnerability. He still hated it. "I liked what you were doing with my hair." That sounded better than _Please do it again_ , if only marginally.

Qrow laughed lowly, a pleasing rumble against his ear. "This? Okay." He put both hands into Ozpin's hair this time, and it wasn't worth the embarrassment but felt wonderful nonetheless. "And next time maybe we can work back up to some of the rest. As long as you promise me you'll say stop when you don't like something."

Ozpin made a small mph noise that he hoped would pass for agreement. He'd been foolishly nervous about sex when what he should have feared was all this insistence on _discussing_ it. Still, Qrow was here in his bed, no longer upset with him, and petting his hair. Life in general was infinitely brighter than it had been twenty-four hours ago.

He nuzzled into the crook of Qrow's shoulder, finally feeling the pull of sleep, and let himself start to drift. He was nearly under when he heard, "Know what I liked about that night?"

"Mm?" He hadn't asked, had he. Failure to reciprocate again.

"You trusted me. We've worked together for a long time now, and I know you trust me with a lot, but you hold a lot back too. Especially yourself. But that night you put your body in my hands and trusted me to make you feel good, and you let me _see_ everything you felt. It was...honestly, it was quite the power trip." He gave a little deprecating half-laugh. "I know you were drugged at the time and that makes it kinda creepy. But seriously. Don't worry so much. You're the hottest thing I've ever seen when you just let yourself be _you_."

Oh. That was sweet, if somewhat intimidating. And the knowledge that Osprey had been utterly wrong was sweeter still. Ozpin smiled, unseen in the dark, and fell asleep thinking about anniversaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep saying the next chapter will be the last one, but this time it's true. Really.


	8. Chapter 8

Scroll messaging wasn't really Qrow's kind of thing, to be honest. He'd had a scroll since his first year at Beacon, because Summer insisted ("How are you two going to summon your lockers?  Check your Aura?  Call us to bail you out when you've gotten arrested?") , and sure, it was useful to set up meetings and dates.  But typing out messages with the little keyboard was tedious.   Worse because both Ozpin and Glynda were snobs about it and would get sarcastic if you didn't use complete sentences _with_ punctuation.  Just another reason to keep his field reports to a minimum.

But now he was starting to change his mind, because it turned out texting was great for dating a busy headmaster.  Oz worked through dinner most of the time,  came to bed after midnight and rose early,  and couldn't always clear his schedule for breakfast.  He didn't want Qrow sitting in on all his meetings or shadowing him around the campus (to be fair, this was because Qrow had a hard time keeping his mouth shut in the presence of stupidity).  But he would always respond to scroll messages promptly - even when he probably shouldn't. 

**Having fun?**

_Not in the slightest.  A meeting about campus usage of resources.  Did you know that toilet paper consumption goes up by 62% in the second month of spring term every year, and no one has been able to figure out why?_

**Mysterious.**

_You don't seem surprised.  May I remind you that you are faculty at the moment, however temporarily.  Would you have any information to share?_

**There might be a certain tradition in Hope dorm the week before midterms.  The kind that takes a lot of stockpiling to prepare for.**

**You didn't hear it from me, got that?**

_Certainly not. I merely suggested just now that it might be fruitful to search Hope dorm, particularly the cupboard under the east end stairs.  The others are now staring at me like stunned goldfish.   You've helped me maintain my reputation for uncanny knowledge._  

**The great and powerful Oz sees all.**

_Not quite.   Although I can see a lecture from Glynda in my immediate future about scroll use during meetings._

_Team STRQ was in that dorm, were you not?  And how did this tradition get started?_

**Put your scroll away, you're in a meeting.**

* * *

 

_How did your class go?_

**Not bad.  The kids paid attention.  I get sidetracked too much but my stories are more interesting than Port's.**

_His curriculum is lighter than yours, so keep a careful eye on how much material there is to cover.   But that simulation you ran the students through was quite effective._

**You saw that?**

_I watched from the back for a little. You'll get more polished with practice, of course, but you're not bad at this.  If the rest of term goes well, would you consider taking a regular class at Signal?_

**Teaching the pipsqueaks like Tai?  I'm not much of a role model Oz.**

_Think it over._

* * *

 

**Hey**

_Good morning.  I didn't want to disturb you._

**Thanks.  But it's ok to wake me you know.**

**I like you in the morning more than I like sleep.**

_Noted. I'm watching the second-years spar. Care to join me?_

**I'm in the library. I looked up your thesis.**

Oh? 

**"Depathologizing asexuality".  Bet that raised some eyebrows.**

_It certainly did.  Not the topic expected from an aspiring headmaster.  But it did some good, I'm happy to say.   The Vale and Atlas physician guilds no longer classify asexuality as a disorder._

**Let me guess.**

**Mistral turned up their noses and Vacuo's too disorganized to care?**

_More or less, yes._

**Figures.  I also saw it was your idea to have coed dorm rooms.**

_It was.  I explained that team bonding is of paramount importance, and that it was ridiculous to be so very concerned over the potential sexual activity of young men and women whom we're about to send out into a career of lethal combat._

**You took some flak for it in the media though.**

_There was a certain amount of moral outrage, but it settled down after a year when no orgies or pregnancies resulted._

**You put a lot of thought into stuff like that.  The health ed class, all the online materials, the clinic.**  
  
**We took it for granted but the other schools don't do any of those things.**

_I suppose it's important to me that people be allowed to live their lives without sex constantly getting in their way.   Not part of my great task, and perhaps a foolish distraction from it._

**It's not foolish. You did good, Oz.**

**Stop overthinking it and just say thank you.**

_Thank you._

* * *

 

**We still on for lunch?**

_Yes.  Let's meet on the south grounds at 11:30.  It's such a nice day, I think I'm in the mood for a picnic._

**You got your list ready, right?**

**Oz.  List.**

_Yes._

* * *

The south grounds were just one huge stretch of turf with some benches and trees around the edge.  Qrow liked them: soft ground to land on, nothing much to get damaged, and long clear sightlines (a big plus if you were a twitchy kid not yet used to city life).  Only two teams were out here today, working on coordinated group attacks from the look of it.   He scanned the perimeter, shading his eyes with his hand;  where was Oz? 

Oh.   All the way down at the far end.  And what was that, construction equipment?  He broke into a run, not wanting to waste this rare lunch date.  They'd be lucky if they got a full hour before some minor crisis popped up. 

Oz stood at the top of a slope, overlooking half a dozen people with clipboards and shovels who were busy laying out some kind of grid.  He was resting both hands on his cane, but it didn't look like he was leaning on it heavily today.  Qrow pulled him into a hug from behind and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, getting a pleased hum in response. 

"What's all this?"

"Since there's so much unused space here,  Glynda and I thought it would be a good spot for a garden.  Next year we'll add a pavilion if the budget allows.  A pleasant place for conferences and ceremonies."  He gestured at a large flatbed truck full of saplings in burlap bags.  "But today, we break ground and plant trees."

The sound of digging equipment powering up followed them to where Oz had spread out a green blanket on the grass.   A large wicker basket suggested that he'd charmed the kitchen staff again.  "Can't beat the fresh air and the view, but why'd you want to sit here?  It's gonna be noisy."

"I had my reasons."   They both had to shout to be heard over the engines.  Qrow shrugged and sat.  When Oz had a plan it was best to just roll with it.  And generally you were supposed to indulge your lover, right? 

(But if Oz thought he could use the noise as an excuse to go back on his word, he was wrong.   Qrow had been patient for weeks about this already.  A relationship Talk was going to happen, and it was going to happen today. )

They set out the food and munched in silence with hand gestures.  Then the thermos of hot chocolate dropped out of his hand and spilled all over everything,  because _of course_ it did, and they found out the mustard had gone bad after they'd already spread it on two sandwiches.   When everything was cleaned up and the soggy inedible food thrown out,  Qrow flung himself down on the grass and loudly cursed his semblance, himself and the gods in the most creative terms he could think of.   Oz just moved the blanket nearby and sat patiently doing leg stretches until Qrow ran out of swear words. 

"It's all right, you know."

"It's not."  Qrow stopped wallowing and stood up anyway, brushing grass off his pants.  "Sorry to ruin your picnic." 

"Food is easy to come by.  Time with you, less so."  

In other words, don't make it worse by sulking.  Right.  He stooped to kiss Oz, not caring who might see, and that led to some rolling around on the blanket until they ended up lying the usual way they did in bed, with the roll of paper towels under Qrow's head for a pillow.  

"It's quiet."  At some point the noise had stopped.  If any of the workers had come to report, they must've tactfully gone away again.  Qrow decided not to mention that thought.  "Are they done already?"

"For now." Oz headbutted him under the chin gently in the way that meant he wanted his hair petted.  Over the last few weeks he'd gone from being afraid to ask for simple affection to demanding it like a cat. Qrow loved it.  "I instructed them to take an hour's break after planting the trees."

Oookay.  "Then I guess we'd better get on with things."  He pushed them up to a sitting position;  Oz made a discontented little noise, and Qrow added some gentle scritches to the hair-stroking as an apology.   "Dealbreakers and boundaries, right? You have your list and I have mine."

Oz pulled away with a sigh. "As you insisted.  Very well, go ahead."  He took off his spectacles - they tended to get knocked askew when there was a lot of kissing - and busied himself polishing them with a handkerchief. 

Seeing him go all stiff and wary again made Qrow feel like he was kicking a kitten.  But it had to be done.  "Right.  Well.  The first thing I'm sure you can guess.  The jerks in your head stay away from me and out of our relationship."  

Since that disaster of an encounter he hadn't learned any more about the state of things inside his lover's mind.  To be perfectly honest he didn't want to know.  It wasn't Oz's fault that the others were there, but knowing they were watching _all the time_ made his skin crawl if he thought about it too much.  He could accept the situation, but he couldn't make himself like it. 

Oz only shrugged.  "As you wish."  He settled the glasses on his face again and looked down at his lap, as though he knew a blow was coming and didn't want to watch.

"Second thing, you're my boss and my boyfriend and...we both know that could get weird. I know you said you could handle any conflicts with the council,  but we also need to keep things separate for our sake.  If we're having a fight we don't bring it into the work. If I screw up an assignment you don't take it out on me in the bedroom.  And if it all goes south, protecting the world is more important than our feelings."

Or as Tai had put it, _"Screwing your boss is a terrible idea, Qrow, but you're going to do it anyway, so at least plan ahead for when it blows up in your face."_

He could see the tension in Oz's body relax as he spoke; this wasn't the topic he'd been dreading, then.   "We're in complete agreement there, I assure you.  And I do appreciate your discretion so far in avoiding said conflicts."  

Oz hadn't said _clean up your act while you're in the classroom_ when offering him the teaching gig.  He always took it for granted that Qrow would keep enough of a handle on the booze to get the job done, no matter how sloshed he got on his own time, and Qrow did his damndest out of sheer gratitude.  He'd gotten the about-your-drinking speech from everyone else in his life, he didn't want to hear Oz deliver it too. 

"Great.  Third, you have got to get better at telling me things."  There was the tension again, aha.  "You can't just say to make myself at home in your place and then get miffed cause I put stuff in your sock drawer.  And you let me do that thing with your neck for a week before you told me you hated it."   He reached out and brushed the hair out of Oz's eyes, gently, and ignored the little flinch.  "And I know you apologized for Kuchinashi, but it's not the first time you've left something important out of a briefing."

Oz ducked his head away from Qrow's hand, his mouth tightening stubbornly.  "And I _am_ sorry. But there are reasons for the things I do, and I cannot always share them with you.  And...reticence is a hard habit to break.  I can't promise to change that."  

Arrrrgh.   "Will you try? Oz. Please."  What made a guy so determined to self-sabotage?  Was it something learned over centuries?  Or another thing to blame on the voices in his head? 

"Very well."  Qrow knew better than to take that as agreement. They'd be having this argument again.   "Are there any more items on your list?"

"Just one. If something happens to me...don't let the girls want for anything.  And don't push them."  He scowled at Oz, who frowned right back, his lips still pressed tightly together. 

"I know Ruby has the silver eyes.  But if she doesn't want to fight -"

"She will.  I have never seen a child with silver eyes choose any other path."

"And is that because of what you tell them?"   He heard the frustration in his own voice; damn, he'd meant to be calm about this.  But he saw the sad edge to Summer's smile sometimes when she held her daughter. 

"I have tried to _stop_ them! Many times."  There was frustration in Oz's voice too suddenly, and something raw.  "Do you think I wanted to bury my own children?"

...Qrow was an idiot.  There was nothing to say but "I'm sorry."  He reached out and touched Oz on the shoulder; when his hand didn't get knocked away, he leaned in for a brief embrace.  "You've got the calm leader act down so well, I forget how much you must've been through. We all do."

"That's the intention."   And Oz's voice had dropped right back into that smooth assured cadence, case in point.  "Qrow, I swear that I will aid your family as long as it's in my power to do so."  He paused.  "And because I know it will ease your minds, I promise not to seek out the children.  They will not meet me unless they come here of their own free will.  And they will not learn of Ruby's heritage from me, not unless there is no alternative.  I'll leave it to you to choose what to tell them and when."

How did he _do_ it?  The one thing Qrow really hadn't wanted to ask of him,  that he'd left off the list like a coward, and Oz had somehow known and promised it anyway.  He felt like an absolute heel. 

"It's not that you're not welcome in Patch,"  he said weakly.  Except it was. His teammates were fine with working for Ozpin - Summer took Huntress missions, Tai had some arrangement that Qrow wasn't supposed to ask about - and they liked him.  But when Qrow had brought over a case of Mantle IPA and announced why he'd been in such a good mood lately,  there'd been a little shocked pause, a meaningful look shared between the two of them before _that's great, we're happy for you._ He'd known right then that his little daydream of them all together for Solstice dinner, the girls excitedly chattering to their new uncle and demanding presents, wasn't gonna work out. 

"I know," said Oz gently, and Qrow could see in his eyes that he did.  "I know.  We protect our children above all.  It's a trait of humanity I hope we never lose."

Qrow shrugged awkwardly,  trying not to think of Solstice nights spent alone in a tower.  Hell, centuries spent alone in a cabin.  It had never bothered him before.  "Anyway.  That's my list, I'm done.  Your turn."    Good thing his next class wasn't until tomorrow, because he needed a drink right now. 

"Such small demands, after all," murmured Oz.   What else had he expected Qrow to want?  Now wasn't the time to ask.  "I don't have any dealbreakers or boundaries, as you put it -" 

Oh for crying out loud, after _weeks_ of ducking the subject - Qrow snapped his flask shut after one gulp and opened his mouth to say something he'd probably regret, and Oz raised a finger at him like a teacher who wasn't done lecturing.  

"- but there are two things that I need you to understand."   All right, fine, if it made him feel better to phrase it that way.  "First, as truly enjoyable as these last weeks have been, I have selfishly been putting you in more danger than you know.   You already risk your life by scouting Salem's forces, and soon enough her agents will know your name and be watching for you.  If she should ever capture you, knowing what we are to each other..."  Oz trailed off.

Point taken, though it was a little ironic to bring it up after they'd just been making out in public.  "So we need to start being more discreet, is what you're saying.  I get it, Oz.  My feelings aren't gonna be hurt if you don't ask me to the dance next year."

"I can never ask you to marry me," Oz said simply.  Oh.   _Oh_.   He hadn't been thinking along those lines, not at all,  and yet Qrow felt something squeeze tight in his chest at hearing the possibility was gone. 

For a minute or two they just sat and looked at each other.  The breeze felt good on his face, and somewhere behind them an excited girl was yelling about timing and footwork. At last Oz cleared his throat. 

"The rest is no easier, I'm afraid.  We've spoken of my curse and what needs to happen in the event of my death."

"Yeah, I remember.  When you come back you'll head for the nearest capital city, but it might take a while.  I need to find you and bring your cane along."   A daunting task, even if he'd had practice locating a Maiden or two. 

"I will be paired with someone between the ages of thirteen and twenty-five.  Almost certainly male.  Qrow...I will be there, and we'll be able to speak with each other, but that is all.  It will be painful for both of us."

No kidding. But surely a lot depended on his new host. "It might be a kid, I get it, or someone who really doesn't like me.  But if we get lucky -" 

" _No._ "  Oz gripped the cane at his side.  "I have sworn it to myself many times,  I will give up control gracefully.  I will not let the next host endure what I did.  The body will be theirs, and my task to help them through the process."  He looked pleadingly at Qrow, that sidelong glance up through the hair falling in his face that was so hard to resist when he used it for _let me have the last donut?_ or _it's just one little felony_.  "It's not a pleasant prospect.  If you're there with me, please.  Help me to do the right thing."

"...Okay."  It was the only possible response.   He looked away, past the saplings now sticking out of the dirt to the city skyline in the distance, and when fingers interlaced with his own he squeezed them lightly.   

Reincarnation had seemed like a solid if weird disaster plan when he'd first heard about it.  Regroup, gather resources, try again with a new perspective and a new life.  Now it meant Oz trapped inside a stranger, forced to witness all _their_ intimate moments and experience their sensations,  including - okay shut that line of thought down right now.  Not helpful.  Shove it to the back of his mind, along with the unwelcome twinge of sympathy for the jerks Oz carried in his head now. 

(He might not live to see it happen. And if he did, well, the new host might be an adult instead of a teenager. _Might_ be someone lonely enough to welcome the new voice in his head, willing to share his life with a friendly professor-wizard and a mature but ruggedly handsome Huntsman. Oz had to be secretly hoping too, no matter what he said.  Sometimes you had to believe in the long shots to keep going.)  

Qrow wouldn't have minded just sitting there for an hour or two, drinking and staring at the horizon and trying to get a grip.  Frankly, he felt entitled to it after this conversation. But after a while Oz let go of his hand and stood up (hardly using the cane, this time.  His leg really did seem to be getting better).

"Now that that's over with, I'd like to show you something before the landscapers return." 

Right, great, more noise incoming.  "Sure.  This the reason why you wanted to sit here?"

"It is."  They packed up and made their way down the slope to where the spindly little trees formed a horseshoe, framing a large new patch of turned earth. Each one had a few sparse clusters of blossoms and leaves.  Not an impressive display yet, but Qrow could see how in a few years standing here would feel like being in a pale pink cloud.

"I've been thinking lately," said Oz, reaching out to the flowers on the nearest sapling, "about anniversaries. Traditions."

The word "anniversary" made his ears perk up like a cat faunus.  Did this have something to do with the still-mysterious flower attack?  "Yeah?"

Oz kept on touching the flowers, patting each one softly several times.  No - he was touching each petal in turn for some reason.  "So much of my existence is made of old patterns and echoes.  There isn't really very much that is, well, _me_ , and almost nothing of substance." He gave Qrow that sidelong irresistible glance again. "Not until recently."

The implication made his face feel warm.  He had better not be blushing, he had an image to maintain.  "Is that so." 

Damn, he _was_ blushing, he could tell from the amusement on Oz's face. "It is.  In fact, I've begun to think that perhaps I can leave my own mark on the lives to come.  A new anniversary to remember with fondness."   Oz stepped back from the tree.  "Watch."

That greenish-amber light flickered across Oz's face again, then spread over his whole body. Qrow hastily backed up a step, letting the picnic basket drop with a thump. He remembered being bathed in that radiance, years ago, the strange not-electric charge of it buzzing like bees inside his very bones louder and brighter until he passed out. 

Oz tapped the base of the sapling's trunk with his cane. Light trickled down like water along the shaft; as soon as the bright droplets fell onto the bark they expanded, covering the tree in seconds and limning all the branches in green fire.  The blossoms glowed amber in breathtaking contrast.  After a few moments, Oz let out a deep, ragged breath and the light vanished.   Qrow put out a hand to steady him without looking; he couldn't tear his eyes away from the tree. 

The bark was now grey instead of brown,  a dull pewter color veined through with black. And the flowers...he'd know that shade of red anywhere,  from his own back to the cloth in Summer's hands as she stitched Ruby's birthday present ("She grabs on to your cape every time she sees you, and I don't think it's just that she likes the color.  You've got a little fangirl, Qrow.")

His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth.  It took him a couple of tries to make words come out, and they sounded a little hoarse when they did.  "I thought you said you had to conserve your magic for emergencies." 

 "I do."  Oz was breathing heavily now, using his cane and Qrow's shoulder to stay upright. But the satisfaction in his voice was obvious.  "This was irresponsible and foolish and I expect I'll be hearing about it for years to come."

The bark was smooth under his fingers, the leaves velvet-soft.   "It's...it's beautiful." Qrow thought of the pink cloud again, now shading to deep red at the center point of the horseshoe.  "What are the gardeners gonna think when they come back?"

"I find 'classified Atlas technology' and 'Dust experiment'  between them tend to make people stop asking questions in any situation."   And that smile was one of Qrow's favorites, the one that said _we could talk about how many rules you just broke,  but why don't you help me eat this plate of cookies instead and we'll say you learned your lesson._   He'd wanted to lean over and kiss that smile since the first time he saw it, and now he  could.  Life was strange. 

Oz kissed him back a little bemusedly.  "Discretion doesn't start until tomorrow then, I take it?"

"You can't do something like that and not expect consequences. But..." Reluctantly, Qrow backed up to an appropriate friendly-colleagues distance.  "You're right.   We're just lucky Glynda never caught us." 

"Oh, she did,"  Oz sighed. 

"Ouch."

"Yes.  And yet, I couldn't find it in myself to be properly remorseful.  She was quite cross with me."

Discretion was obviously going to take some practice, because the way Oz was looking at him right now wasn't remotely professional, and Qrow was pretty sure the expression on his own face said 'lovestruck dope'.  Time to get out of public view.  He picked up the basket and without a word, they fell into step along the path that edged the grounds. 

Before they rounded the corner into the main courtyard, he had to stop and look back. Even at a distance the changed sapling drew the eye, those blood-red petals like a shout against the silvery grey leaves.  Maybe he'd carve their initials in a heart when the trunk was bigger.  

"I thought," said Oz,  his hands fidgeting atop his cane, "we could make it a tradition to picnic there every spring.  By moonlight, perhaps.  If you liked."  He sounded suddenly diffident.  "It may not have been the most _exciting_ of romantic gestures -" 

"Hey." Qrow tapped his own forehead meaningfully.  "If someone up there's giving you a hard time, tell him to shut it.  I like us having a tree.  Something that'll always be there."  

"Yes," and he saw the hands still as Oz knew he was understood.  "That's it.  Beacon Academy will grow and change but as long as it stands,  someone will visit this tree and know that a shy headmaster loved a dusty old crow."   

"Do you know,"  Oz continued with a look over the top of of his spectacles that suggested professorial dignity if you didn't know him well,  "I think the next hour or two of my schedule will have to be pre-empted by an urgent meeting.   The newest member of the faculty requires more guidance in refining his teaching methods.  Shall we?"

The idea of a legacy was odd. He'd never expected to leave one; even the campfire tales of Bad-Luck Qrow must be long forgotten by now, as the tribe found other people to mock. As a Huntsman he saved people but didn't stick around long enough to be memorialized.   The girls...well, when they grew up they might still remember the cool uncle who played with them but kept his visits short.  For a while. 

Oz wouldn't forget.  "Immortality" and "forever" weren't concepts an ordinary guy could really wrap his brain around.  But a hundred or two hundred years from now,   _someone_ would look at that tree, trace the heart carved into the bark and think about Qrow-and-Ozpin.   And if Oz was still in there, he'd be holding onto those memories as a comfort.  

So it was up to Qrow to make them good ones.  He thought, as they walked towards Beacon tower almost but not quite holding hands,  that in a way it felt like a weightier responsibility than saving the world.  But one he could handle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Thanks for sticking with me through this story as it grew well beyond its original bounds. (I'd honestly intended more smut, but the two of them just really needed to talk, and then they insisted on talking some more.)
> 
> In case anyone's wondering about the timeline, Summer's death will happen later the same year, and I've always assumed Qrow's drinking gets worse from that point on. But he and Oz will still have ten years or so together before v3 happens. I may go back and make minor edits to make all that line up.


End file.
